The Cassandra's Dilemma: Book One
by Gentleman Bystander
Summary: What if you knew something so terrible, that life itself hinged on you getting your message out?  What if the only people who believed you were a handful of misfits and societal cast-offs?  Welcome to the world of Uriah Shepard.
1. Chapter 1

**Legal Disclaimer**

Mass Effect and all characters, creations, organization, and locations pertaining there-to are the exclusive property of Bioware and EA Games. Use of said characters, creations, organizations, and locations fall under the aegis of the Fair Use Clause and are neither intended nor unintentional generating profit or revenue for the Author.

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**Author Disclaimer**

The Following Story is rated M for a reason. The story contains contextual and thematic elements that may not be suitable to all audiences. This book is set in a science fiction universe but covers matters of human interactions and relationships that may not be acceptable to all readers. Language and graphic descriptions of violence are common and if this type of writing disturbs you or is unsuitable for viewing by you or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s), please do not open this work. This work is replete with refrences and allusions to romantic relationship and human sexuality as part of the natural process of human socialization and may contain strong sexual content and descriptions there-of. Refrences to suicide, drug use, alcoholism, religion, and politics are also contained here-in. If any of these subject matters are offensive or inappropriate to either yourself or your child(ren)/spouse(s)/dependent(s) please do not view my work as I will not be held responsible for posting material you may view as inappropriate after you elected to open and read it.

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**Setting Disclaimer**

Events in this story occur in the weeks following the return from the Omega 4 Relay. The character is based off a level 60 Paragon Soldier Male Shepard (Spacer/War Hero), no relationships pursued in the course of the first game. Character was imported to Mass Effect 2 as a Male Soldier and went through a full play through including all DLC, no relationships pursued, but I strung all the female love interests along, never completing the final pre-consumation conversation. Second play through, same process, never consumating a relationship. Character full Paragon with roughly 25% of Renegade bar. Collector base destroyed. 100% Team survival.

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**Viewing Disclaimer**

This is the last one...I promise. This work is best viewed at 1/2 justification. You know, those goofy little links at the top right corner of the page opposite the genre/title link bar. Seriously...I mean it, this definetly reads better at 1/2, but don't let me force you.

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"From this valley, they say you are going..."

The inflection muted tones of inter-aircraft intercom: "Line of departure, 2 minutes."

"We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile..."

A cacophony of thermal clips being shoved into their applicable receptacles broke the monotonous scream of the drop-shuttle's engines and the roar of rapidly passing atmosphere.

"For they say you are taking the sunshine..."

Reaching up, the singer adjusted the impromptu load-bearing pouches strapped to his left arm, rolling his eyes over to the left thigh to make sure the LBE there was securely fastened to the stock Rahael Group greaves.

"That has brightened our path for a while."

From the corner of his eye he noticed the expression of Turian incredulity, not that Turian faces were particularly animated or capable of a range of expressions, rather it was more a series of subtle mandibular twitches.

"So come sit by my side if you love me...do not hasten to bid me adieu.."

The Asari must have sensed the Turian's confusion and had focused her attention onto the singer as well, trying to discern what was being said...and why.

"Just remember the Red River Valley...and the Marine that loved you so true."

Taking a shallow breath, he continued, low, almost under his breath.

"I've been thinking a long time, my darling...of the sweet words you never would say.

Now, alas, must my fond hopes all vanish...For they say you are gong away."

The Asari warrior and Turian sniper exchanged looks, the universal "maybe he's finally cracked" expression conveying volumes without a spoken word. There was an element of dread in the expression, but at once also a sense of 'well, what can you expect?'

"Do you think of the valley you're leaving...oh how lonely and dreary it will be..

and do you think of the kind hearts you're breaking...and the pain you are causing to me?"

Again the shuttle intercom crackled to life: "Line of departure, 1 minute, 30 seconds."

The Turian opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words caught, or he thought the better of it.

"They will bury me where you have wandered...near the hills where the field lilies grow,

when you're gone from the Red River Valley...for I can't live without you I know."

Memories of Elysium, and the post-Blitz shock...both the Marines and the civilians, neither totally inured to what had occurred, and both seeking comfort, often in the other.

"Shepard...?"

"Yeah?"

Garrus looked like he was cocking an eyebrow, even though he could not physically do so, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?" he worked the charging handle on his M-76, pulling it back just far enough to see the washed out blue gray of a fresh heat sink. "God damn, I hate these things..."

"I wasn't talking about the thermal clips, Commander...its just...well...I don't think I've ever heard you singing before."

Uriah felt a mild twinge of self-consciousness. "I'm surprised you could hear it."

"Well, your mouth was moving, typically when that happens its because something important is going on...or you're having some chow."

Shepard grunted, "Its nothing, just an old song we used to sing on Elysium after the blitz."

"Well, it doesn't translate to Turian to well...some time I'll have to switch off the translator and here it in the original."

Uriah hadn't for a moment thought about the fact that everything he said was translated to Turian for Garrus' benefit and vice versa.

"It was sad...very sad, yet...somehow sweet." The Asari declared in a voice that was like a steel gauntlet in a velvet glove.

Uriah grunted again, "Its really old...about 300 years..." he caught himself, "Well...by human standards its very old."

The Asari blinked at him blithely, almost sweetly, her face betraying no other emotion.

"I wasn't implying anything, Samara...its just that for humans..."

"I understand, think of it no further."

"Line of departure: thirty seconds." The intercom once again broke into the tensed martial atmosphere of the cargo compartment.

Uriah reflexively welded the stock of the M-76 to his shoulder. "I want a one eighty degree security sweep once we touch down."

"Copy that." Garrus replied curtly.

"Understood, commander." the Asari responded succinctly.

The intercom broke in again, "Be advised, we have ground contacts, one four foot mobiles and one heavy mech three zero five meters from LZ."

Uriah snarled reflexively, then made eye contact with his squad mates, "Change of SOP, grab some cover as soon as we touch down, keep a good interval. If they're hostile we'll need to suppress them fast. Garrus, you start glassing them at range, crew served and command personnel first. Samara, keep an eye on our flank."

Garrus shouted over the retro-burners feathering their approach, "That's what I love about you Shepard, everywhere you go its a party."

"I just wish they'd let us know ahead of time..." Shepard half quipped, half groaned.

The wing-door of the shuttle opened still about three meters from the ground, the powerful wash of the descent thrusters forcing detritus out in every direction. At 1 meters up Uriah leapt from the door, hitting ground and immediately scuttling to a convenient outcropping of rock, the M-76 tight against his shoulder as he moved, leveled in the direction of the approach of the foot-mobiles. Behind and to his left and right he heard the tell-tale sounds of Garrus' and Samara's approach to the position, fast and low, dirt and rock grinding under their feet in the all-to-familiar crunch of boots. A quick glance to the left and right rewarded him with the sight of Garrus crouched behind a large boulder, his M-29 at the ready. Samara was similarly crouched, the M-12 tight against her chest. Shepard once again shifted his attention to the approach corridor of the foot mobiles, bright blue armor with white piping immediately apparent.

"Blue Suns..."

Uriah let out a quick high pitched whistle, Garrus' eyes immediately met his. Shepard made a series of hand gestures, indicating number and position of enemies, then pointing upwards to the sky. Garrus immediately figured out what was being indicated, and his eyes took on a predatory gleam. Turning back to face the approach vector, he slid the M-76 back to its receptical on his back, feeling the magnets take hold of the receiver and the weapon's servo motors collapse the rifle into a compacted carry form. As the right hand replaced the weapon, his left began to pull the 87 lbs of bulk that was his M-98 free. The weight felt like it wanted to break his wrist, but he wrestled it around quickly grabbing it by its center of mass as the kydex grip, barrel assembly, stock and scope shifted into place. No sooner had he done so, Samara was at his left side, leaning into him, her right arm around his side, her legs on either side of his left. Shepard forced himself into marksman focus, controlling his breathing into a series of slow deep breaths. The receiver of the M-98 leaning across the rocks as his eyes adjusted to the scope picture. Samara leaned her M-15 across the same rock, eyeing foot mobiles through her scope.

Her voice came into his ear, causing the hair on the back of his neck to prick up, "Range...two hundred fifty four meters. Wind...northwest to southeast...three kph."

The YMIR was his target, adjusting the rifle's position, he pulled the stock tight, then caught his breath with his lungs three quarters full. The tight trigger offered no slack before breaking, sending the 133 gram projectile hurtling down range. Garrus' M-29 chattered sending a trio of 8.6 millimeter projectiles on an accompanying course. The YMIR shuttered upon the hit, servos pushing to design tolerance as a flurry of electronic misinformation soared through circuits. The machine let out a faint groaning sound carried on the slight breeze as machinery responded to sudden CPU death by executing one final movement command that ordered the servos "on", but never sent the accompanying "off" command, pushing each joint to its maximum torsion. The mech collapsed in a heap, its three tons of weight shaking the ground. A scant few meters away, the throat of one of the mercs seemed to explode, the rocket launcher on her shoulder falling to the ground as her body went as limp as a boned chicken. Shepard ripped the charging handle rearward on the M-98, sending a spent heat sink rebounding across the ground. Forcing it home and stripping a second heat sink and another of the 2052 grain projectiles from their clips and into battery. Garrus' rifle chattered again, and another of the mercs fell. He worked the sight picture onto a new target, initially a blur of blue against the ruddy ochre of the plane's dirt. The distinctive high collar, and tangerine glare of reactive shielding gave him a good idea of his target, the commander of the detachment. Catching his breath at half he held his cross hairs low over the center mass of the Batarian. They had frozen like rank amateurs...any merc worth his, her, or it's salt would be either on their belly or behind the closest cover.

"Range, two hundred twenty seven meters, wind still northwest to southeast, three kph."

"Got him." Uriah replied.

"Send it." Samara said softly.

"On the way." The words almost immediately drowned out by the protest of the weapons magnetic rails filling to capacity with a megawatt of power. The round struck less than a second after trigger break, the force of the ultra-heavy projectile effectively splitting the merc open, taking off the left arm and leaving his head hanging by tattered vestiges of flesh and bone off to his right. It was at this point the Mercs suddenly realized what was happening. The YMIR had not just had a catastrophic malfunction...they were being lit up. The fire started coming in, ineffectual, rounds flying wildly.

"Contact!" Garrus shouted as he sent another three round burst into the massed merc foot mobiles.

Again Uriah worked the action on the Widow, moving the scope picture to another target, placing the cross hairs in the mid-thoracic area of the merc and immediately squeezing off the shot. Without waiting to see the result of his shot he lowered the weapon from it's perch, letting the stock rest on the ground as he ripped the M-76 free of its moorings. The servos whined as the barrel assembly slid forward, stock slid back, and the grip and trigger assembly lowered into place. From the holographic sight he watched one of the mercs heading for the ML-77 lying on the ground. At his side, Samara's M-15 barked, the three round burst catching the merc dashing for the support weapon in the thigh and knee, sending the stricken humanoid sprawling on the ground. Uriah started laying down suppressive fire, short aimed bursts, catching more than one merc as their attempts to advance on his squad's position were stifled.

"Shepard! We've got trouble!"

Uriah looked over to the Turian, "Report!"

"I caught it in the scope, about four klicks out, A-61s, three of em, inbound!"

"God dammit..." Shepard opened his Omni-tool, "Shore party to Normandy! Shore party to Normandy!"

"This is Normandy, we copy."

"We need Uniform Tango four seven to our tertiary exfil, beach-head compromised, I repeat, beach-head compromised, we need exfil, expedite, over!"

"Solid copy shore party, ETA five minutes."

"We don't have five fucking minutes!"

Uriah reached down, picking up the M-98 where he had placed it, snapping the M-76 back onto the MLBE behind his right shoulder. Hoisting the massive AMR he began scanning the sky for the A-61s, spotting their distinctive hunched profiles coming in low at judicious speeds. It was pretty clear they were under the impression that their foot mobiles were engaged by a superior force. The Mantis tracked slow against the sky. Planting his feet far apart, forward and back, bracing himself, he took a deep breath, leaning into the stock. Aim small, miss small...he was working for the center canopy, at the range, he was going to have to shoot high, tracing the scope a mil up over the curved spine of the aircraft. The trigger broke without even a conscious recognition that he had fired. The tungsten KEP covered the intervening two kilometers in about three seconds, chewed through the armor plating ripping into thrust vectoring assembly and control surfaces. The aircraft bucked, tendrils of smoke drifting out of the blast ports.

"That got them spooked!" Garrus shouted as he rammed a new heat-sink into his M-15 and proceeded to dump 8 well aimed three round bursts into the hostile position.

"Garrus, get on their net and see what they're doing!" Uriah bellowed as he worked the action on the M-98 and once again started sighting in on the gun ships.

"Copy!" The Turian crouched back behind the rock, bringing up his Omni-tool and beginning to scan local extra-net bands for the Blue Suns' command net.

Through the scope, Shepard saw the trio of A-61s turn sharply east and begin heading for the side of the plateau. Doubtless, they were going to attempt an NOE approach to keep them out of the line of fire. The approach would add another six or seven minutes to their approach, enough time for their exfil.

"Shepard! I got their net!"

"Patch me in."

"...off from Bravo base now, moving to reinforce...negative, negative, enemy has anti-aircraft capacity, divert approach vector to zero three one nine!" The scramble of voices were giving a clear picture, "I say again, Captain Gural is dead..."

"They're combat ineffective...lets get the hell out of here. Keep up the fire, just a few bursts, suppressive if they attempt pursuit. How are you on clips?"

"I've got three." Garrus offers.

"Five." Samara says calmly.

"Alright, mad minute, then we beat feet, oorah?" Shepard closed up the M-98, returning the massive weapon to his back, feeling the sudden shift in weight as the MLBE fights to distribute the 100 pounds of weaponry and ammunition across his frame. The M-76 comes free again, in his hands it almost feels like it wants to get a workout. Put a few clips through it, heat up the barrel, like back at Paris Island...qualify first five rounds through, have fun with the rest. Of course, having fun was trying to work a smaller and smaller MOA.

"Ready?"

Garrus nodded.

"Yes, Shepard." Samara replied, the voice so intriguingly calm.

"Light em up!"

Time was a funny thing durring a fire fight, it could last forever, or be over in the blink of an eye...and sometimes, it did both. Laying accurate bursts into one position after another, clearing spent thermal clips...it seemed like he had been firing for hours...maybe even days. Time seeming to crawl as in the adrenaline heightened awareness he could almost see the packets of charged mass soaring down range. He felt his heart begin to race, euphoria building...he felt himself at a precipice, close enough to edge over into spontaneous orgasm; adrenaline, serotonin, endorphins, and a healthy surge of testosterone. This is was what he was...after Elysium had broken him anyway. Part of him broke...and this was now something fun to him...something he lived for. God, how he tried to suppress it...make it go away. He wasn't supposed to like battle, he was supposed to eschew contact. War is hell...contact is a mother fucker...that's what he'd always heard...but even now...contact...

Somewhere in his mind, a small trigger, almost like a timer went off, and he dropped back down behind the escarpment.

"Lets move."

* * *

On the shuttle back to Normandy, Garrus passed right out, Turians snored with a distinctive trilling whistle, no grumble as would be produced by a creature with a soft-palate. Shepard just stared at the opposite bulk head, eyes unfocused, remembering dozens of past events and nothing at all simultaneously. Each time he remembered something more horrific than before, he forced it out of his mind, inadvertently with something more terrible, all culminating in that sickly sweet smell in the Collector base, the smell of human rendered. The reaper larva, that thing, meant to be a human or a reaper...or something in between; it smelled like hell. Not in the way most would say it...it wasn't a stink...it smelled like damnation...like evil...like a thing that should not be. Tears started to well up into his eyes; he didn't know why. He didn't feel particularly sad, he didn't feel any particular sense of despair. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe he was feeling sorry for himself. It didn't matter, he shouldn't be crying. He fought back the tears, feeling the tightness in his throat, the creeping itching in his face.

"Marines don't cry...marines don't cry...marines don't cry." He said the words in his throat, never opening his mouth.

Hand tightening into fists, fists tightening to bludgeons, he felt the tendons straining, threatening to pop if he didn't ease his grip, if not for the ballistic cloth gloves his fingernails, short as they were, would have been tearing away flesh. Find something, anything, to hold onto, to keep from being dragged under. Hate? Hate will do. Hate for what? The Batarians? No, that wasn't hate. Cerberus? Could he really hate something he was part of, intentionally or otherwise? The Reapers...yes, that'll do. Part of him was sure that if Sovereign had been corporeal, he would have defiled the body. New tightness drew his attention from his fingers. His jaw...tightening, teeth grinding together, the mandible grinding bone on bone. He could hear the popping in his ears, felt molars in danger of cracking. Three weeks since he destroyed the Collector facility in the galactic core, and now he was chasing Prothean artifacts...trying to figure out some weakness to exploit against the Reapers, why him? He was so tired...how many more times did he need to die before he could finally rest?

The slender black gloved hand touched his thigh, his eyes, which he had forced closed open, looking over to Samara, her gaze was compassionate, with a strange kind of sorrow. It was almost like his emotions were causing her pain. Like she could feel what he was feeling...or maybe she was just very empathetic; that was more likely the case.

"Shepard...Uriah...are you alright?"

He lied, "Yes, I was just resting my eyes. Adrenaline crash." not very well.

She didn't press. "I understand."

The next three hours were little more than a blur...a half-hearted after action report, planning a system reconnoiter. When the Blue Suns went to move the artifact to the buyer, they would be able to hit either the transport, or perform a covert smash and grab once it reached its destination. Everyone talking, asking questions, making suggestions, finally deferring to the strategic validity of options he didn't even know he was making. Almost staggering to his room, struck by the realization that he hadn't had more than fifteen hours sleep in the last standard week. Pouring a high-ball about a fifth full of bourbon then downing it in a gulp he stripped. Walking into the small latrine/shower room adjoining his quarters he turned on the hot water and sat down underneath it. Back when he was still a fresh recruit, a Master Gunnery Chief told him that all soldiers cried, anyone who said otherwise was either full of shit or trying to sell you something. It was just a matter of when you did it and where. Given the chance, most Marines did it in the shower, quietly. Now that he had the chance, he found that he couldn't. Tears had been ready to come on the UT-47, but of course, now that he was in the privacy of his quarters...not a drop.

"God damnit, Uriah...get it together."

He cut the shower, walked over to the small mirror over the sink, wiping away the film of condensation. He looked again at the left side of his face, reminding himself for the hundredth time that his scar was gone. It struck him again that the reconstruction had been at least, to some degree driven by aesthetics. Not that there was really any reason to reconstruct a facial scar except that it was part of what made him, him. He leaned in closer, trying to get a better view, looking for some sign of where it had been. All he could see was the faintest discoloration of the shattered-glass scars from the reconstructive surgery. How much of his face had been gone, he wondered. Part of him secretly wondered what he had looked like when they found him.

"EDI...what time is it?"

He could hear the holographic display come online, "Current time is ninteen twenty five zulu."

"When was the last time I slept?"

"Biometric readings indicate it has been fifty eight hours, thirty two minutes, seventeen seconds since your last sleep state." the AI droned.

"And before that?"

"Twenty eight hours, seventeen minutes, forty eight seconds."

"And how long was I out between those two periods?"

"Four hours, twelve minutes."

"Thank you EDI."

"You are welcome, Commander."

Shepard punched a quick code into the intercom in his privy. "Kelly..."

The usual chipper voice, rendered slightly more impersonal by the vocalization matrix replied, "Yes, Commander?"

"I do not want any disturbances for the next 10 hours for anything short of a Reaper Flotilla. Check that...a Reaper fleet."

There was a pause, "Understood, Commander, I'll route all reports to your inbox."

"Thanks."

He toweled off quickly, pulling on an pair of boxer-briefs and proceeded to unceremoniously collapse face first on the bed. Sleep didn't bother with a probe or recon...it overtook his position before he had boots on the ground.

* * *

"Yeoman Chambers, may I speak with you a moment?" Kelly turned, immediately recognizing the voice. It was like the audible version of very expensive chocolate, rich...dark...soothing...sensual. Kelly's feelings about Asari typically extended to her appreciation of their aesthetics...with Samara she could almost imagine a deeper appreciation.

"How can I assist you Justicar Samara?" Kelly was formal, but personable.

Samara looked around the bridge in a seemingly very casual, but clearly calculated way.

"We should not speak here, perhaps in the briefing room."

Somehow, the bridge was completely oblivious to Samara...a fact that seemed strange considering the most ethnocentric members of the crew had commented on how exotically beautiful they found the Justicar. Perhaps when a being was as old and powerful as her, it learned how to deflect attention.

"Alright, if you like." She felt a faint flutter in her stomach, not knowing what to expect or what this meant.

Stepping away from her station she followed the lithesome Asari through the armory and into the briefing room.

"Miss Chambers...I am concerned...about the commander."

Kelly was too busy taking in the voice, like an orgasm for the ears, for the words to register immediately.

"Concerned...about Commander Shepard? How? What seems to be the issue?"

"I think he is having a, what is the term; a nervous breakdown."

Kelly was taken aback, "Did he say or do something?"

Samara looked off for a moment, like she was remembering something, her face sad, "On the way down to the drop zone today, he sang a song, softly, to himself. It was mournful...it felt as if it was wrenching my soul. Then, after our extraction, as the shuttle brought us back...he is in so much pain."

Kelly wrinkled her brow. "I'm not trying to seem obtuse, but are you referring to mental or physical pain?"

"Surely they are unrelated." Samara posited.

"In humans, not so much so...often times extended periods of physical pain will cause psychological trauma, similarly, psychological injuries can manifest themselves through physical or psychosomatic infirmity."

Samara folded her arms, thinking. "Such a complex species...forgive me, I do not mean to sound derisive. I am saddened by the fact I only came to know your people so late in my life."

Kelly screwed up her courage to ask something that was becoming rapidly clear to her, "Samara, do you have...feelings...for Commander Shepard?"

The Justicar seemed almost startled, "Feelings? Of course, he is an able commander and a charismatic leader."

"That's not exactly what I meant." Kelly placed a hand gently on Samara's left shoulder, not sure if it was some grave sin to do so, but knowing that the tacit intimacy of touch might be what it would take to draw her out fully, "Do you want to be with Shepard? Intimately?"

Samara turned her face away from Chambers, trying to hide her conflict and confusion. She felt ashamed...weak. In her maiden days it would have been expected, in her matron days, accepted, but now...as a matriarch, and a justicar at that. She knew some Justicars took lovers in other particularly powerful warriors, some of the younger ones even bore daughters by them. But her status as a Justicar was penance...for bringing three Ardat Yakshi into the universe, and allowing one of them to be indiscriminately loosed upon it. And were it not for Shepard...who had seduced her demoness of a daughter so she might face judgment. She owed Shepard more than just loyalty, he risked his own life to bring her closure, and had done so with no pre-condition, expecting nothing other than what she had already given.

"I fight it so hard." her voice cracked as she replied, "During my meditation, he is there to look back at me. When I think I have found my center, I see his face, and it all shatters."

Kelly arched her brows, not in surprise but in an expression of futile acceptance. "I think you understand how most of us feel in his presence. He is awe inspiring. Can I tell you some things...in confidence?"

Samara wiped a forming errant tear from her left eye, to be told secrets about others was reprehensible...but maybe, it would give her some peace. "I will keep whatever you tell me secret."

Kelly leaned up against the conference table, "Garrus confided in me, he loves Shepard...not in a romantic way, but like one loves their father, and brother, and very best of friend all in one. He said to me, 'I would die for Shepard, but I don't think just once would be enough'."

Samara stifled a sob.

"Grunt says he wishes Shepard had been born a Krogan...because then maybe, just maybe, it would have been some of Shepard's genetic material that made him what he is."

Taking a few slow deep breathes, Samara tried to steady herself.

"Tali...Miranda...Jack...they are all in love with Shepard, madly...total and complete unrequited love. Okay, Miranda might not really be 'in love' but she's infatuated, and Jack's idea of love is...well...aberrant at best."

Samara found some strength in this, if Shepard were to somehow return their overtures, she could accept that her chance of finding some short happiness with him as an impossible dream. "Surely, he has to have been receptive to one of them."

Kelly shook her head, "He sees Tali like a little sister, or even a daughter. To be sure, he does love Tali...but not in the way she wants to be loved. Miranda...she just doesn't fit what he would want. In a better time, she would be a stress reliever...someone he could work out sexual needs with, but never truly commit too. Jack...she is just as damaged as he is, but she doesn't cope. Any relationship with her would just make his own attempts to maintain balance harder."

Samara felt the despair come back, but tempered with a strange longing. "What about you?"

Kelly sighed, a long, genuine, sigh. "He doesn't even begin to see me in that light."

"Miss Chambers, this is very complicated for me. I am over nine hundred of your years old, there have been very few occurrences that I have not seen or experienced in some way during my lifetime. I do not mean to sound condescending, but it is rare I would seek the opinion of a being I have been alive over 30 times longer than. But, what should I do? When he actually looks at me, his eyes pierce me, like he can seen through me...but then at times, its like there is nothing behind the eyes, as if he's dead inside."

Kelly didn't wait a beat, the answer was already there, "Sleep with him."

Samara was dumbstruck, something that hadn't happened in about 392 years by her count, "This is providing, of course, that he would want to."

The yeoman crossed her arms, a helpless smile on her face, "He needs it. He is operating at stress levels that can cause serious health side-effects and possible mental collapse. Besides, you're probably the one woman on this ship who has nothing to lose by presenting the idea. By the way...what song was he singing?"

Samara felt the sadness of the song manifest itself in her eyes, "Something he said they sung Elysium...something about a red river valley."

Kelly blanched noticeably, "Its an old human ballad, about a lost love."

Samara turned to face Chambers, a degree of composure returning to her, "Do you know anything about it?"

"The song?"

"No, this lost love he is singing about."

Kelly shrugged, "It wasn't in the dossier."

"Perhaps, I should look into it."

Chambers furrowed her brow, "Not to seem prying, but...why?"

The Justicar looked at the young woman calmly, her composure restored, "To understand what he needs."

* * *

"Human, why do you resist us? Does not your own faith tell you that there will be a reckoning? A rapture, then a tribulation. What are we if not the hand of divinity wiping away the sullied and making all pure again? What foolish action is it to struggle against the new Eden."

Shepard.

"Why do you toil so against the hand of righteousness? Surrender to the coming rapture and heed not the knelling of the impending tribulation. We are salvation, kneel and pray, and you will awake in paradise."

Shepard.

"Our name is Chayot HaKodesh, the wheels of the throne of God."

Shepard.

He shot upright, hand coming to rest on the M-5 where he had left it. Eyes darting around the room, finally coming to rest on a mauled Turian visage.

"Easy, buddy, easy...you were really out there."

"Garrus...what time is it?" Shepard grunted, reaching up to rub his eyes.

"Its oh seven fifteen. We were in the mess when EDI commented that you hadn't been responding to your wakeup call."

"I was out twelve hours? What the hell..."

"Looks like you were having one hell of a dream." Garrus jerked his head back and to the left a second, indicating the sleep-erection standing out like a defiant third leg against Uriah's boxers.

"It wasn't that kind of dream it was...wait.." his face suddenly awash with panic, "Did we pick up the Reapers? Have we detected them yet?"

Garrus looked confused, "What? No...why...?"

Shepard slid to the end of the bed, letting his feet rest on the floor, with his elbows resting on his knees, torso double over, he began running his left hand through his close cropped dirty-blonde hair.

"Never mind, it was just a nightmare."

"You okay, buddy? You've been acting kind of...odd recently."

"Its just lack of sleep...and stress...and lack of sleep...and politics...and lack of sleep."

"And the Reapers?" Garrus prompted.

"...And lack of sleep." Uriah cracked a tired wry grin.

"You know, I'm not the ships counselor or anything but you might want to figure out a way to work off some stress." Garrus always had such a delicate way of prepping for a bombshell.

"Any suggestions in that regard?"

"Well.." He pointed a finger towards Shepard's lap, "You could always give that thing a workout."

"Sure, let me go down to supply and requisition an Asari hooker..."

Garrus approximated a smirk with his left mandible, "There aren't enough willing women already on the ship?"

"What...No! God, no. I'm their CO, I can't fraternize like that!"

The Turian's expression changed, another subtle shift of eyelids and mandibles, "But back on the SR1...didn't you and Ashely..."

Shepard shook his head.

"But we all thought..." Garrus stammered.

"Thought what?" Uriah cocked his right eyebrow.

"Well...you two...were always so close and those times she snuck off when she though nobody was looking."

"She wasn't with me. I made it pretty clear from the jump that I wasn't going to break regs."

"Well how do you like that..." Garrus chuckled, "And here I thought I knew what your one vice was."

"Vice? Hell, Garrus, I'd figured you more than anyone would have picked up on the fact I'm a raging Red Sand fiend." Uriah quipped, a teasing smirk on his face.

Garrus laughed, "So that's why your eyes are always red...I thought it was...lack of sleep."

Uriah shook his head, a smile cracking his face.

"So what was this nightmare about anyway?"

The smile slowly faded, "Nonsense really, one part Reapers and one part old timey religious terror."

Garrus shook his head, "You know what, take a day off. We can keep things nailed down for a day. The mercs planet side are bunkering down until the time for the transfer of the artifact comes, we scared them up pretty good yesterday. Leave everything to us for a change."

"Alright, Garrus, you win. But that means if Miranda starts heading my way raving about protocol, I'm using you as the sapient shield."

The Turian laughed hard, "Shepard, you've got a deal."


	2. Chapter 2

"Commander Shepard?" The intercom broke into loading bay.

Uriah effected a changed voice, "Nobody here by that name."

"The Illusive Man wishes to speak with you." Kelly didn't seem to know how else to respond.

"No Shepards here..."

"Coooommaaaannderrr!" The audible pout was priceless.

"Alright, alright...guess you can't second guess the guy signing your paycheck."

"T'at never stopped me befo'e." Zaeed quipped, lowering his fighting knife.

"Play with Grunt for a few, I'll be back." Uriah countered, wiping sweat from his face with a gym towel.

"You can't do that...Grunt'll eat him!" Garrus protested, between chuckles.

The Krogan licked his lips with comic bravado.

"Play nice you two, if I come back down here missing a crew member, I'm pumping the other's stomach."

Shepard stepped from the sparring mats, and crossed to the starboard stair well, climbing the metal steps barefooted. Reaching the first landing he made the turn to continue the remainder of the flight and ran headlong into Jack. The two stopped dead in their tracks rebounding slightly from the collision.

"Watch where you're fuckin'..."

"Nice to see you too, Jack."

"Oh, Shepard...shit, thought you were someone else." She looked over his body, her first time seeing it out of uniform, clad as he was in nothing but a pair of N7 shorts that appeared to be his original PT pair.

Her eyes crossed the expanse of chest to what remained of a gobu irezumi. Part of the original tattoo had been lost to skin grafts during his physical reconstruction, what remained was an ukiyo-e depiction of a sohei wielding a Kanabo surrounded by gusts of wind carrying cherry blossoms. The sashimono on his back bore the lotus mon of the Tendai monks. Crudely inscribed on the field of the banner were the words _Si vis pacem para bellum._

"Nice ink...and you asked me about my tattoos."

Shepard shrugged, "You brought it up the way I remember."

"Where did you get that done?"

"I did SERE out of Camp Zama, a week after we finished we all got drunk and I got this done."

Jack scowled, "Bull shit, that would take weeks."

"The outline didn't, it seemed a shame to leave it unfinished, so I went back on and off for about a month to get it finished...it was a lot more extensive back then."

Irregular patches of skin disrupted the edges and more than a few areas of the design itself were punctuated by Euclidean areas of pristine skin.

"Its..." Jack dropped her voice, seeming uncomfortable, "nice. Who did it? I might have to look him up."

"The sujibori was done by an old horishi named Maeda Katsuharu. I was his last job, he died in his sleep three days later, the color was done by one of his apprentices. I've got to go Jack, we'll discuss it later."

Side stepping the biotic Shepard continued to the central access lift.

The Illusive Man and Shepard had been dodging one another for a little over three weeks now, ever since Shepard had decided to blow the Collector's Reaper production facility. Shepard wasn't entirely sure it was because of anger, a sign of withdrawal of support, or just plain fear that someone had dared defy him without concern for the consequences. What contact they had in the intermittent weeks was courteous if somewhat strained. Email from Cerberus command advising the Normandy to travel hither, thither, and yon was something of a tacit sign that the Illusive Man had not decided to liquidate the project, but the approach had been much less hands-on than what he had initially experienced.

Leaving the lift he crossed to the lab hatch, on the way he was spotted by Kelly. Initially her jaw dropped, but ever the playful one she quickly recovered and let out a patently bawdy wolf-whistle. Reaching into a pocket she pulled out a credit chit, holding it in the air as one would to a stripper.

"Belay that!" Sherpard growled, trying to suppress the grin.

The entryway slid open to the lab, prompting Solus to look up from the computer console he was diligently tapping away at. The Salarian blinked twice, before speaking, "Commander, recommend Dr. Chakwas for physical examination. Knowledge of human physiology, somewhat limited beyond immediate trauma and more common heteroxenic ailments. Can recommend several holistic remedies for exercise strain. Human tennis elbow similar to condition suffered by Batarians. Ligament trauma surprisingly similar between humans and Turians."

Shepard didn't stop walking, "Thanks, Doctor. Just passing through, don't let me keep you."

"Ah, yes, understood. Responding to call from Illusive Man. Mustn't keep him waiting."

"We'll talk later Doctor."

"Yes, look forward to it."

Uriah reflected on the fact that Mordin was maybe just a few hundred words a day in excess of being an excellent Special Forces Medic. His propensity to expound on a problem rather than just quickly deal with it was the only real issue. In terms of skill, intelligence, and pure guts...he was top notch, but the tendency to go on and on in that hyper staccato way of his could start to grate. Still, his competence, uniquely tuned moral compass, and unflinching resolve in the face of insurmountable odds...and massed weapons fire...made him a unique asset and a good friend to have.

Twelve steps through Mordin's lab to the sub-corridor, seven steps from the sub-corridor/lab hatch to the briefing room. Shepard started feeling the gnawing sensation of doubt. It had to be bad...this was a personal call, not the emails he had been receiving. Was the Illusive Man about to tell him he was burning the project? Was this going to be the kind of cloak and dagger "Get rid of the team and throw them out an airlock" that always showed up in novels and extranet conspiracy theories?

"Deep breath, Uriah...what can he really do to you?"

Stepping through the door to the conference room, EDI popped up, "Connecting you now, Commander."

The conference table lowered into the floor, lights dimmed to black, and the holographic projection grid wrapped the room. Lines of color formed in an erratic pattern around the room as the projectors parsed the incoming data.

"Shepard, I..." the Illusive Man paused, "What are you wearing?"

Uriah reached up and grabbed each side of the gym towel around his neck, "My workout clothes."

"Yes, Miranda forwarded a rather strongly worded complaint about you taking unannounced days off."

Shepard shrugged, "Mental health day?"

"I have no objections, it is important to keep you in good physical and mental condition. I was a bit disappointed that the objective raid yesterday was a failure, but the conditions were clearly beyond your control. Poor timing and bad intel on our part." the holographic image flicked his cigarette, dropping a small measure of carbonized paper and tobacco into an ash tray.

"I have to assume you're not contacting me about scheduling issues." Uriah tried not to sound confrontational, and missed the mark by a narrow margin.

"Shepard, I am finding it increasingly hard to be pretentious when you are involved. I do not agree with the move to liquidate the Collector facility, I feel we could have developed the situation more extensively."

Shepard avoided shock, the Illusive Man wanted to have a genuine debate. His tone was decidedly non-recriminative, he wanted a real explanation as to why Shepard felt it was the better course of action.

"Illusive Man, I realize you viewed the base was a possible asset to exploit, but frankly, given the track record of Cerberus undertakings I have been involved with up to this point, I am strongly convinced that any technology we would have captured and attempted to exploit would have been more detrimental than helpful." Shepard paused, waiting for a response.

"Please, continue."

"Most of the Cerberus projects I have seen have been to goal oriented, the bottom line being the driving force. That's fine up unto a point, but sometimes the ends do not justify the means. God, that's so cliché. Take Pragia...what did that accomplish? You created a super biotic...but she would just as soon kill you and anything that even looked at her cross eyed as help humanity. Lets not think about all the lives lost and the credit cost. The Overlord Cell...dozens of lives lost, millions of credits, and one young man whose life is effectively over. Me...how many lives were lost on that one?"

The suited mastermind took a long pull at the cigarette, his body language affecting no reaction to what was being said. "Alright Shepard, putting semantics aside...what would your approach be to our goals?"

"What exactly are our goals? I've never gotten more than the party line on that."

"To keep humanity strong."

"That is rather vague, don't you think?"

"Succinct, yes, but I would not say vague. Take a moment, if you will, and consider the course of human history. Going as far back as the formation of the Vatican and centuries later the Treaty of Westphalia. Human history has been pronounced by a tendency towards homogenization while paying lip service to heterogeneity. Increasingly as centuries passed, the 'standard' by which the world was expected to operate was increasingly dominated by jingoism disguised as norms and fundamental rights. The end result of which was an antipathy towards dissenting opinions and the individual right to stand apart on the basis of self-interest, enlightened or otherwise. At one point in the twenty first century the entire world was on the verge of collapse due not to population, the limitations of technology, or environmental crisis, but because it was seen as a mortal sin to behave or think in a fashion that did not conform to an intellectualized set of criterion. Group think, Commander, is the bane of humanity."

It was hard to swallow, but Shepard decided not to gag on it. "I'm still listening."

"Tell me Shepard, what has been the prevailing socially acceptable course of action vis-à-vis our contact with foreign species since the conclusion of the First Contact war?"

"Integration...which when last I checked was not the same as capitulation."

The Illusive Man smiled, a knowing smile, "Exactly, integration...combining humanity into an integral whole. The end result of any integration is the blurring of differentiation. Differences are vital to any species or group. I have no animus towards cooperation with extent species, but I believe it is important for humans to remain human, both culturally and genetically."

"I don't foresee the genetic issue becoming a problem." Shepard sniped, it was a small shot, but a shot none-the-less.

"True, but it is an issue of semantics."

"I thought you said we weren't going to go into semantics."

"In this case, I am breaking my own rule. Earthling and Human have become irrevocably intertwined. One is assumed to confer the status as the other, with the move to colonize and integrate, humans have increasingly begun to adopt or affect the culture of other species, alien aphorisms becoming rote. I wish no more to see a human begin to behave as an Asari than I would wish for a Turian to forsake his or her culture to be human. At the end of the day, Commander, respect must be earned, and how can we expect to be respected by other races if we rush to shoe-horn elements of their culture in ours at the cost of our own culture? There are already elements in our society and government that firmly espouse these beliefs. The great silent majority has two ideologies available to them: become more like the other council races and do it now, or follow the prevailing winds. Moderate is not a good political stance, Shepard. Sitting in the middle, not having an opinion is not good policy, the end result is you get dragged with whatever is the strongest current, apathy is not a virtue its laziness."

Shepard let a small smirk appear on his face, "Enter Cerberus."

"Precisely. By providing an opposing point of view, especially one that can be sensationalized, we at least present another side to the argument. The great silent majority, at the end of the day, will pick the stance that works the best for humanity as a whole. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. If the masses choose poorly, we adapt and change, that is the one strength humans, as a species, have never lacked.

Uriah contemplated for a moment, "I suppose I see your point. Girls need to aspire to grow up to be women...not Asari matriarchs."

"You're making the point a bit more crudely than I would, Shepard, but the gist of the point is there."

"So, now that I understand what page you are on...where do we go from here?"

"Enlightened self-interest Commander. It is a distinctly human quality to think of yourself first but to surround yourself with friends. Everyone just has to understand what the operating criterion are. The Asari, Salarians, and Turians would all make good friends to humanity, but they have to view us as equals or even superiors, beings they can respect without the trappings of toadyism." the older human took a long drag from the cigarette.

"Why do I get the feeling you have practiced this speech before?" Uriah crossed his arms, shifting his weight into a contrapposto worthy of Michelangelo.

"I rarely get to expound on my ideology, Commander. Sad to say, most of the people that are drawn this organization have done so for the wrong reasons. I have had some success with selective recruitment, but there is only so much quality-control possible when running a shadow organization outside the comfort zone of government sponsorship." a slight smile spread across Illusive Man's face.

"Just so we're clear, I still view a lot of what this organization does as dubious at best." Shepard asserted, trying to avoid giving to much ground.

"So do I...in the grand scheme of things, a necessary evil."

There was a moment of silence, as if each was waiting for the other to issue a final rebuttal.

"What exactly did you need to speak to me for? I'm assuming it wasn't just a friendly chat."

"Now, now, Shepard, there is no need for antagonism. I am contacting you because of an asset we have acquired. I need you to get underway for Omega. I will have further details sent along to you once underway."

Shepard furrowed his brow, "What about the current mission?"

"I have other forces being diverted to deal with this problem. Three days ago seven hundred fifty tons of element zero illegally mined on Daratar in the Hour Glass nebula fell into the hands of a rather uncharacteristically well armed patrol of Migrant Fleet Marines. The tip-off on the shipment came 'courtesy of Cerberus'. The pirates band in question had not tasked a very large contingent to guard the transport as they had previously moved most of their assets to the destination planet to protect against possible Turian military action from a cruiser that was rumored to be entering the system." Illusive Man couldn't help himself, so pleased with his own machinations the smile was spreading across his face. "The ship was also carrying a substantial cargo of weapons and provisions which the Quarian Marines also liberated."

Shepard cocked a brow, "So I take it in a few days a black market Prothean artifact is going to find itself seized by a group of armed-to-the-teeth Quarians at which point it will get offloaded to a 'passing merchant' in exchange for a cache of routine-but-hard-to-manufacture-with-limited-facilities items the Migrant Fleet has a noticeable dearth of?"

The Illusive Man smiled, a look about as close to glee as anyone would get out of him, "Why Shepard...you must have the gift of prophecy..."

Uriah couldn't help but smile a bit himself, a very clever plan, and one that was subtle nod to the Quarians, he had to admit, he liked it.

"So, it's to Omega then?"

"Yes, and Shepard...try to enjoy the rest of your day off."

Shepard walked out the door seeing little more than a flash of black and white topped with brown locks before he felt the collision, particularly a particular softness pressed against his upper-mid thoracic region. In the space of less than a second he took in all the details. Dark brown hair, just past shoulder length, carbon fiber reinforced calf-skin leather, the faint scent of vanilla and almond oil, breasts in the upper c cup range pressed against the upper rectus abdominis and lower pectoralis. He brought his hands up, grabbing at the deltoid on each shoulder, easing her back.

"Sorry, Miranda, the meeting is over, were you looking for me?"

She took another step back, snapping her face to her left side, turning a bright pink as she did but letting her eyes dart back to take it all in.

"Commander, I..."

Shepard allowed his grip to release with her step back, "...was spying on you?" he prompted.

"What...no...I..."

"I'll be sure to inform you in the future when I plan to take a personal day, will 72 hours be sufficient?" He fought hard to suppress a grin, and was managing it, just barely.

"How did...I...what...?"

"Miss Lawson, is there a problem?" Tormenting her, how immature...he hadn't teased a girl like this since he was 12, but somehow, when it came to her he could find it excusable.

"No, there is no probl-...why are you dressed like that? You are supposed to set an example for the crew." She turned her head to look at him defiantly, allowed herself another once over his body, eyes darting, then blushed even harder.

"I'm reminding them of the physical fitness standard. Just because we are in space does not mean they should neglect their physical conditioning. Proper exercise will allow them to operate at a higher degree of efficiency and this ship has both the facilities and equipment to expedite a maintainable calisthenics regimen." It was a strain to fight off the grin at this point, devilish glee goading him, fighting the reflex was like being shot.

She blushed brighter, "Are you mocking me, Shepard?"

Respiration increased, rise in blood pressure, surface dilation of capillaries, pupil dilation. She was either very pissed off, or getting turned on...or both. Ten years ago...hell, five years ago, she was the kind of whiskey mike he wouldn't have made wait two seconds once the come-hither had been directed at him. Here he was harassing a woman that would probably be on her back stark naked within four seconds of him giving the word "Go" just for the sake of giving her a hard time. Somewhere in his mind he wondered if something had gotten crossed in his wiring, he didn't feel a thing. No twinges of excitement when she was pressed up against him, no thrill as her bosom rose sharply and quickly fell with each agitated breath, and certainly nothing happening in his nethers.

"No, Miss Lawson...I am not mocking you, I'm condescending you. Take note, it might be important for you to understand the interactive dynamic for the future."

She summarily raged, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Your immediate superior. I don't answer to you, you answer to me. Square that shit away, soldier."

"You forget," she hissed, "I brought you back to life, I can take you back out."

Somewhere in his head, a little voice howled, laughing frantically at something, "Oh no she didn't!" Who was that? Lance Corporal Pearce? No, it was Dixon, Lance Corporal Dixon...what a goofy kid he was. Corporal Cranneman was the established company bitch, she had a burr up her ass and insisted that everyone else know what it was like, so she naturally decided to become the burr up their ass. She always skirted anything more than mild NJPs, the few times any of her superiors put complaints in writing she should play the sexual discrimination card, she was one of all three women in the company. One day she'd brassed off Gunney Stiles in front of her LT and the rest of the platoon. Stiles had replied calmly she better unfuck herself and unass his AO. She had replied with "Or what? You'll NJP me again?" Dixon had shouted his line, and Stiles proceeded to PT her for the next 8 hours straight. Cranneman ETSed out a month later.

"Little girl," despite the fact she was 4 years older than him, "you better be ready to back that up."

Synaptic hyper-stimulation began twisting Higgsian particles in the air, wreathing her arm in violet "flames". Her teeth bared, eyes narrowed she glared at Shepard. He had to apologize, or not, maybe she wanted to hurt him. His own damn fault for not doing like he was supposed to. She had given him every chance possible to take her. She wasn't going to beg, he had to take the initiative, but how much more was she supposed to do to show she was willing? Helping her with her sister like she couldn't have managed on her own, ignoring her, talking down to her; it was unforgivable. Consequences...what were those? This man had done something unforgivable, he had treated her with contempt or worse...apathy. Before she could finish the physical mnemonic a strong hand grasped her wrist.

How? He had been 25 feet away the second before.

A thickly muscled arm shot between her legs, coming upwards the forearm grinding against her genitalia through her jumpsuit. Then she was off the ground, wall became ceiling, floor became wall, then back hit floor...hard.

She gasped as the air was forced from her lungs.

"If you want to fight me, fight me fair. Come at me with that biotic shit and I swear before God, the next time I put you down you'll wake up in a body cast."

She struggled back to her feet somehow, burning a years supply of pure willpower to do it.

"How am I supposed to fight you when you have a sixteen inch reach advantage?" Miranda summarily spat.

"Zaeed, give her your knife."

The scarred veteran grinned, "Now t'ats mohe fuckin' like it."

Pulling the thirteen inch combat knife from its sheath he tossed it to the floor in front of Lawson. "Ere you go, sweet'eart. Don' let 'er down."

Shepard adopted a wide warrior stance, feet apart about two feet, hands up, palms open.

Miranda picked up the knife, rolling it around in her hand until she had a good idea of the heft and balance. Shifting into her stance, she held the knife back, leading out with her left hand, open palmed. "We can have you stabilized in seconds, Shepard...I'm going to enjoy sticking this into you."

"Kinky...now hurry up, you're wasting my day off."

From the peanut gallery, Garrus snickered.

"I giff you five ta one on the girl, Garrus." Zaeed crowed.

The Turian smiled predatorily, "I'll see that bet, say 200 credits?"

"Done!"

Miranda circled a moment, right now she was hedging her bets on Shepard not taking her seriously. His stance seemed lax, like she was just some buck private fresh out of CQB who thought she could take on the world. She was going to use that cockiness against him. His hands were open palmed, he wasn't planning on punching, just warding, maybe slapping her around a little, he wouldn't get the chance. Her lunge was fast, she was pleased with the purchase she got off the training mat. She would use her forearm and elbow to lock up one or both of his hands, then come in low with the knife from behind, hooking it around into the kidneys or liver. Neither would result in death in anything less than three minutes, and they could stabilize Shepard with medigel in 15 seconds. Nothing short of severing his spinal cord above the C1 vertebrae presented a real risk of killing him. It was only 8 feet to cover, and suddenly the world was going topsy-turvy again. She tucked into a roll, keeping the blade clear of her body as she did, suddenly registering the pain in her shin where his had smashed into it.

"Wanna rethink that bet, Zaeed?" Garrus crossed his arms.

"Seven ta three!"

Garrus held up a chit, "Six hundred, right here."

Completing the summersault she spun to a crouched position, lunging again, her left hand high, fingers curled to gouge for his eyes. Shepard pulled his head back, the opening she wanted, his spine curved back, balance neutralized she shot the knife hand up, going for the upper gastric, the stomach wouldn't hurt as bad as a kidney, and would not create as pronounced a loss in blood pressure as the liver, but it would suffice. Her knife hand came in, the prize in sight, she could almost imagine the blade piercing the skin, separating muscled fiber, cutting that beautiful body like a side of beef. Then his hands moved, his right hand slapping hard against the inside of her wrist joint while the left struck hard against the back of her hand. The knife sailed from her hand as it snapped inwards. The blade sailed a few feet then hit the floor skidding towards Grunt who did a lopsided hop to keep it from hitting his foot. Shepard grabbed her by the back of the neck with one hand, her left wrist with his right, stepping in and past so they were side to side like a couple doing a tango he kicked his right leg high then brought it back down swiftly, taking her legs out from under her, sending her to the floor again.

She coughed and gasped.

"Goddammit Miranda, hold the knife the right way." Shepard sounded like an exasperated instructor, "Grunt!"

The Krogan picked up the knife, tossing it back to Shepard who caught it.

"Now look at me. With this kind of knife an over-hand grip you need to keep your wrist at a straight angle. Its not an epee, you don't lunge with it. You get in close and mix it up, try the underhand, go for the muscle groups first. Immobilize a side first, arm, leg, take the blood vessels as you go. Brachial cut, radial cut, quads, femoral, kidney, throat. Got it?"

He dropped the knife next to her, "Now try it again."

"God damn you, Shepard." She groaned.

"Yes, he already did, I work with you every day."

Grunt crossed over to Garrus and Zaeed, the animation of Krogan faces clearly indicating his confusion. He watched the bout carefully, not entirely sure what was occurring. In terms of technique, it all made sense. Shepard had Lawson totally outclassed, and while he was trying to make a point, she was being driven by blind passion. Garrus stood arms crossed, his left mandible twitching a rhythm, he was enjoying it thoroughly.

"Garrus..."

The Turian turned to look at the Adolescent Krogan, "Hmmm?"

"Does this mean they are going to mate?"

Garrus shook his head slowly, "I couldn't tell you, but right now that seems like a distinct possibility."

The soft thrum of the Tantalus Drive Core filled engineering with its usual rhythm. The slight smell of ionized particles contained by a discretionary mass effect field signaled that all was well. Tali watched the readouts comparing the numbers to a second scrawling data set of figures taken from the Neema before she left the fleet for her mission on Haestrom. Part of her wondered if at some point she couldn't figure out a way to integrate an identical drive core into the much larger ship. The saved room would be invaluable. Her reverie was interrupted by the engineering Intercom.

"You three should get out here, Shepard and Miranda are fighting down in the hanger." Jack's voice sounded kinder than usual, with a note of exhilaration.

"Holy Crap, this I've gotta see!" Chief Donnelly exclaimed, "Gabbi, Tali, lets go, this has got to be worth seeing!"

Miranda was sucking air like she had just run five miles; gasping like a normal human, her sense of superiority ebbing away. The smell of fresh blood made her feel almost sick. She had cut him twice, not deep, not even very effectively, they were spite wounds she had managed to inflict as he bat her away on her sixth and ninth attacks. She felt tears forming, the frustration was driving her mad. Now that she had injured him, she found she didn't really want to, and each cut felt almost as if she had cut herself. Stupid pride, but what else could she cling to? Alone, hiding, and barren...what did she have if not for her pride?

"Still feelin' cock of tha walk, Garrus?" Zaeed crowed.

"I have no problem taking your money if you want to pad the margin." The Turian replied calmly.

"A'right, le's say, eleven ta four."

"I can do eight hundred, can you do twenty two?"

"I'm not gonna need to." The merc countered.

"Weeeee'lll seeeeee." Garrus grinned.

Grunt rocked on his feet, slamming his right fist into left hand, "I hope my first time in the female camp is this exciting!"

Still doubled over she gasped, the level or exertion was surprising her. She put distance between the two of them, hoping that he would be paying attention to the cut on his left forearm and side rather than her. A few strong padded foot falls snatched her attention from her breathing, he was right on top of her.

"Had enough?" his voice was low, and soft.

"Go to hell." she just barely managed to gasp out.

Shepard sighed, and that was her opening.

She lunged, the edge going for his eyes. She would rather those eyes be gone than look at her with anything other than admiration or adoration, even lust was desirable to being looked down upon. She was apparently more tired than she realized, he blocked easily, jerking his head away and his right hand shooting in to catch her along her right mandibular ridge. She gasped, he had done it again. Withdrawing his right, she felt it lock up on her right wrist, then pulling it back against his body, locking the elbow. Tension was applied, her hand opened almost involuntarily as her elbow was hyper extended.

That was when she gave up, the rage and frustration bottomed out, leaving her with nothing. At least he is noticing me, at least he is touching me. The thumb-edge knife-hand chop to the throat came a split second after the knife hit the floor, followed by a fist to her diaphragm, finally the leg sweep that sent the world dancing before her eyes as she hit the mat again. He was on top of her in seconds, his knees pinning her arms, feet pressed firmly against her stomach, sitting as he was on her chest. He left hand tightened around her throat, it took a second to see what his right hand was doing. Part of her feared some grand humiliation, but when she finally saw it, cocked at the elbow behind his head she felt at least some small relief that his plan was to hit her rather than violate her. Her face must have shown what she was feeling because the blow didn't come.

"Miranda, Miranda..."

Her eyes focused on his face, he didn't appear angry, or even cocky for that matter.

"Had enough?"

She nodded. "Yes, you win." she croaked hoarsely.

Shepard climbed off of her, standing as he did, "Okay, that's it folks. Go take a lunch. Donnelly, Daniels.." he pointed up to the observation window, "Who's watching the core?"

Donnelly grinned, shaking his head then turned back to tend to the power plant, Daniels and Tali followed. Garrus, Zaeed, and Grunt proceeded to file out too, heading for the stair-well.

"So, I think that's twenty two hundred, Zaeed." Garrus quipped.

"They should go bes' two a' three!"

"Trying to skimp on me, Zaeed?"

"You cheeky bastard!"

With the bay emptied and the spectators gone, Shepard extended Miranda a hand. She didn't take it, didn't even look at him. She had never felt shame quite like this. There had been moments with her father that had edged close, but never of this magnitude. Her father held power over her, he was her creator...Shepard was nothing like that. She had as much created him, or recreated rather. It was like some twist on Pygmalion, the creation exceeding the creator.

"C'mon." The angry Shepard and the dominating Shepard had been replaced with the kind Shepard. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

"I can make it on my own." she choked.

"You have a deep tissue hemorrhaging in your diaphragm, some tendon damage in your right elbow, a muscle tear in your right leg, and your throat is going to have one hell of a bruise, I'm not letting you go anywhere on your own until you see Chakwas." Shepard sat down on the sparring mat, blood still running down his left forearm and side, his PT shorts already soaked a ruddy crimson on the right side. "You said I won, why are you still fighting me?"

Miranda sniffled, not wanting to move from where she was lying, she just wanted to sink into the floor.

"C'mon, get up, lets head to Chakwas...or we can have Mordin take a look at you if you'd feel better with that." He turned to look her in the face.

"Please, don't look at me, don't help me, don't do anything to me." it was almost a sob.

"Should I have the doctor come down here, then?"

She mumbled to herself, "What do I have to do to make you love me?"

"Is that what this is about?" Shepard sighed, "Every damn time... Look, this isn't the place or the time, we've got bigger issues to consider here. Now show me what all that genetic superiority is about, ruck the fuck up and lets go to the infirmary. I need a first officer."

He was right, she was supposed to be bigger than this. Giving into her emotions like this, it was weakness, he didn't like weakness. She could only get his attention and gain his affection by being tought, strong, disciplined. She accepted the proffered hand and rose to her feet, mildly sorry that she did as he helped her hobble to the infirmary. Learning to live with shame...most humans had to do it at some point in her life, the fact she never had was probably a weakness. Yes, this was a learning and growing experience, she would become stronger from this, she kept telling herself that all the way to the infirmary and maybe, more than just a little, enjoying the fact he was touching her as she hobbled along.


	3. Chapter 3

"I really hate this place."

"Ahh, c'mon Shepard, we got such nice parking." Garrus had gotten decidedly more snide sense the attack on the Collector base.

"Garrus, we're switching you with Jeff, from now on you're Joker." Uriah quipped.

Afterlife loomed in the foreground, the music muffled but still seeping almost like a toxin from the club. Garrus' left mandible twitched almost in time with the bass line. Shepard had been somewhat surprised the Turian had opted to come on the mission, he figured that Omega would hold little more than bitter memories best to be forgotten. Maybe Turians just internalized differently.

"C'mon Shepard, lets head in, I hear you can get all kinds of strange in here." Garrus took an expeditious step forward.

"Which head you thinking with Garrus?"

"Damn, this is on the test? I thought you were kidding!" The Turian semblance of a grin crossed his scarred face.

"Just make sure you're not into anything...or anyone...that you can't walk away from on two minutes notice."

"Oh hell, Shepard, you honestly thing I'd last that long? I haven't had any scratch in..." He stopped dead, not wanting to give away that it had been a while for him.

"Shepard Commander, the meaning of this conversation eludes us. Is Turian Vakarian referring to the act of manual skin abrasion?"

If it wasn't for the stares, the occasional muted scream, and the queues of Salarians and Volus asking how much Shepard wanted for him, it would be easy to forget he had Legion along. The fact that Legion didn't need light to see made him a force multiplier in the darkened interior of Omega, and his capacity to instantaneously filter out any of over a million hostile sounds from the noise of crowds and music made him invaluable in a den of thieves, cutthroats, and degenerates like Afterlife.

"Not exactly...its a euphemism for recreational sexual congress." Shepard felt himself uncomfortable, reminding himself that Legion was not, in fact, a child thus invalidating the prohibition of explaining such adult conversations to the uninitiated.

"Might we suggest to Turian Vakarian that Omega has a prevalence of heteroxenic infections four hundred eighty three point one seven four percent of galactic base line. Of these infections, thirty nine point six eight percent can be conducted through intra and extra species sexual contact."

"Oh come on," Garrus flopped his arms in a rather exagerated shrug, "Its not like Omega can try to kill me any harder than it did before."

"Likelihood of death from heteroxenic infection remote. The most common side effects of infection include rash, hives-like outbreaks, genital swelling...sometimes acute, and foul discharge from-"

"Thanks Legion, I think we get the point." Shepard interjected.

"C'mon Legion, you get to play wingman. I'll start talking a girl up and you cross reference the extranet to see if she has any reported...medical issues. One nudge for 'no', two nudges for 'yes'."

One of the advantages of being armed to the teeth is that it meant you were entering Afterlife on business. Shepard didn't think twice about bypassing the queue to enter the club, stretching some 70 meters. The Batarian doorman raised a hand about to say something then noticed who it was, nodding and motioning the "go on in" with the data-slate. From the line there were numerous protests about the trio's disregard of protocol.

Shepard noticed a change in the usual music he'd come to expect. There were lyrics, definitely human, a spoken sing-song over looped MIDI music with a strong drum and bass track, North American slang...hip hop, hip hop had made it to Omega. It was likely a booked act, Aria had a tendency to bring in acts to try to keep Afterlife fresh. The entry foyer was a collection of beautiful beings along with the usual club-flunkies. Great, it was fashionable night, and here he came loaded for elephant into the world of grunge haute couture.

"Shepard, what's the deal, I can understand half of what these guys are saying. The words don't make any sense." Garrus had to almost shout into Uriah's ear to be heard.

"Its cultural slang, Garrus. It doesn't even make sense to most humans, the words are contextual. In short, they guys are saying they're where it's at."

"Where what's at?" Garrus shouted.

"Money, power, beautiful people, material wealth."

"Oh, okay...wouldn't advertising that kind of thing be like asking for trouble? That's like saying 'rob me, I'm rich' don't you think?"

"Garrus...you have noooo idea." Shepard smirked.

The second door loomed ahead, before they had even finished their approach two humans stepped out, each holding up a hand signaling a stop. They were wearing suits with sun glasses and ear links, prototypical rent-a-tough bodyguards, between the two of them they had maybe 14 years military experience, 7 years of line infantry experience each seemed like enough qualification to the uninitiated. A determined attack, however, would brush them aside and their likely four co-workers on the other side of the door.

"You ain't gettin' in with yo shit, check the strap if you want in." generic thug one said.

"Shepard, wouldn't it be considered occupational hazard if we just blew them out of their shoes right here?" Garrus posited menacingly.

"We know Aria, we're here on business." Shepard tried to defuse an impending situation.

"You still ain't gettin' through the door with yo shit." Thug one reiterated.

"Do you work for Aria?" Uriah inquired calmly.

"Doesn't matter who we work fo'."

"Yeah...yeah it does...because if you worked for Aria, I couldn't do this." Shepard swung a left hand hammer-fist down across the bridge of the body guard's nose, his right hand bringing his M-5 up onto the other body guard and snapping a booted foot into the side of the first thug's right knee who immediately collapsed to his hands and knees.

Legion and Garrus drew down immediately, their M-15s firmly shoulder-welded. The interior door opened and the two brought their weapons to bear on the collection of human body-guards inside. The interior quartet of guards didn't have a much higher level of professionalism, reaching clumsily for weapons concealed under their suit jackets. The whine of safety circuits being disabled on Legion's and Garrus' rifles immediately dissuaded them from continuing to draw weapons. Shepard surveyed the room, nobody had seemed to notice the disturbance. His eyes went back to Aria's VIP overlook and saw a familiar Batarian. Anto had been scanning the room as well and upon noticing the disturbance at the door had proceeded to approach to find out what was going on. He saw Shepard, squinted all four eyes, then raised his hand high to motion them over.

Shepard pushed thug one out of his way with a none-to-gentle push of his heel, "Thanks, we'll be going in now. Oh, and here's a tip, check what the rules of the house are before you start throwing your weight around."

Shepard replaced the M-5 on his hip MLBE and began walking to the Batarian security chief, Garrus and Legion backed in the same direction, keeping their rifles on the sextet of human toughs.

"You sure can make an entrance Shepard." Anto grumbled.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I'm not to hot on people who think they have more authority than is warranted."

"No complaints here, Shepard. Those 'body guards' were really starting to get on my nerves. Their bosses have sold twenty four million extranet album copies and they suddenly think they can call the shots on Omega. I assume you're here to see Aria?"

"Yeah, I hope I wouldn't be interrupting anything."

"Depends on Aria's mood, but she's not in the middle of anything if that's what you mean, come on, I'll get you up to see her."

Shepard fell into step next to the Batarian, "So, been keeping out of trouble?"

"If you mean that stuff with Ish, yeah...I won't make that mistake again."

"Good to hear."

"Shepard."

Shepard turned to see Garrus point over to the bar, he nodded and the Turian turned to approach a group of sentients milling about the bar with Legion in tow.

"Who's the Turian?" Anto inquired in a suspicious tone.

"A friend from the time I was dealing with Saren."

"So he wouldn't have anything to do with the piles of dead Eclipse, Blood Pack, and Blue Suns from about five weeks back?"

"Why Anto...whatever do you mean?"

The Batarian chuckled, "Yeah, Archangel is dead...couldn't possibly be him right?"

Shepard stopped, "Is there going to be a problem?"

"From me? No, but he might want to watch himself, we already know the claims that Archangel was dead coming out of Blue Suns was a load of crap. They've still got their eyes out for him, so tell him to keep his head down, Aria wouldn't want you to go on a blood hunt on Omega if something happened to him, you leave a lot of dead in your wake, Shepard."

"This coming from Aria?" Shepard cocked a brow.

"No, its coming from me. I don't want to get on your bad side, Shepard."

Shepard allowed the corners of his mouth to lift slightly, "You're alright Anto."

He tossed the Batarian a credit chit, "Get yourself a drink on me."

Anto lead Shepard up the stairs to the skybox, the couches lining the walls on the first landing were lined with attractive, well dressed sentients from a number of species. Aria sat in her usual place, reading something on a data slate with an almost regal distraction. Off to her right, looking out over the club a single Krogan stood, arms crossed. So it seemed Patriarch had made the most of the actions of his "krantt". Anto cleared his throat, Patriarch turned, then took a typically large Krogan step towards Aria, whispering something.

The Asari set down the data-slate, "Shepard...it's only been five weeks. Did you miss me?"

"Five weeks? You've kept track. I figured it would be a case of out of sight, out of mind." Uriah quipped in return.

"Out of sight...never out of mind. So what brought you back to Omega, you're dressed for business, not pleasure."

"I'm here to pick up someone named Richard Cole...name ring a bell?"

"One of your Cerberus spies?" There was a bit of animus in her voice.

"He's a free-lancer. No prior connection to Cerberus."

Aria gestured with her head to Patriarch who proceeded to descend to the sub-foyer of the skybox and clear it of occupants.

Aria looked over her shoulder, "You know Shepard...I was more curious than anything when you first showed up on Omega. A Spectre...a hero of the council, working with Cerberus. I found myself wondering , 'why in the goddess' name would he do that?' You don't strike me as the racist type. You killed humans to save the council."

"Sovereign killed humans." Shepard growled, "and he would have killed every being that deemed to string complex thoughts together."

"That may be, but the Council decided to play it all off as some Geth war mongering. After you died, they all but labeled you a mad-man. Some tragic hero, driven by paranoid obsession."

"Is this going somewhere, Aria?"

"Cerberus owes me a daughter Shepard. I want recompense."

Uriah felt muscles reflexively tighten, preparing for action, "I won't let you harm any of my crew."

"Fine...I'm not talking about harming anyone, I'm talking about wanting a daughter."

Shepard crossed his arms, "Wouldn't the pregnancy process make your hold more...complicated?"

"Patriarch can keep a face on things. Ever since he showed the mercs that he still commands respect and has his own power base under me," she gave Shepard a half-glare, "they've been a lot more cautious about what they do here. Nobody wants a mad Krogan on their case."

Uriah shifted back into his regular contrapposto. "I assume you're telling me this for a reason. Want us to furnish the nursery?"

"No, I want more than that."

"College fund, baby shower, nanny? Not sure we can help to well on the last one."

"Are you being coy, Shepard?"

Uriah squinted through the plexi-glass visor/HUD, "I hadn't thought I was, seemed more like twenty questions to me."

"I need a partner, someone to join with so I can randomize my genetic code and conceive." Aria crossed her right leg over her left.

"Okay, need me to convince them...or arrange for a kidnapping?"

"No, that won't be necessary, the individual I had in mind came on your ship." She turned to look off on her right side, an affected enigmatic pose.

"I can't ask Samara to do something like that, and as a Justicar, she would likely be honor bound to kill you if she laid eyes on you." Uriah replied with steely resolve.

Aria shook her head, rolling her eyes, "Goddess, you are obtuse! I want you Shepard, you're everything I need for my daughter. Good genes, killer instinct, intellect, skills, ruthless efficiency."

"Sounds to me like the Illusive Man might better fit the bill."

The Asari sneered.

"I don't think you know me as well as you think you do. All those things you mentioned, I'm only those by necessity."

"The fact you can be those things by necessity is why I chose you. I don't want a sociopath, I want an heir, someone I can leave my Queendom to when the time comes."

"Killer instinct, ruthless efficiency, sounds like you'd have to worry about being supplanted." Shepard affected a stern countenance.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my matron years looking over my shoulder, Shepard. As soon as I deemed her ready, I'd hand over control and get to enjoy retirement. My first daughter was too soft, its as much my own fault as Cerberus' that she's gone. A child by you would be...less likely to be swayed by emotion, or at the very least, able to survive whatever her emotions would drag her into."

Shepard shook his head, it was so horribly crass. An Asari version of Miranda, born out of aspirations rather than love. He wasn't even entirely sure what the joining would entail, if he had to actually perform, he wasn't totally positive he could. He hadn't experienced any kind of physical excitement outside of combat since...well he didn't even correctly remember how long it had been.

"Do you have any idea how tense you are? How long has it been since you had a woman, Shepard?"

"I feel fine."

Aria knitted her brow, "You do prefer females don't you?"

"As opposed to what? If you're implying I'm homosexual, that's not the case."

"Just not into aliens? Never pegged you for a xenophobe."

"That's not it either." He retorted, he was getting agitated.

"If its a problem with me, I assure you I have ways of fulfilling whatever desire you might have." She switched legs, placing the left over the right, moving sensually as she did.

"I don't have time for this. I've got bigger concerns, if you don't want to tell me where Cole is, just say so." He turned to leave.

"Wait. I didn't say I wouldn't tell you where Cole is. Don't say no just yet, Shepard. If your mission is so important, I can wait. But I will have you, one...way...or...another." She rose, approaching him with a seductive gait, stopping intimately close to him.

Shepard narrowed his eyes, spearing her with his gaze, "I don't respond well to threats, Aria. You have that rule...don't fuck with Aria...I fuck with monsters that have ended galactic civilization more times than you could count."

The Asari locked eyes with him, a smile creeping onto her face, "That's exactly why it has to be you."

She traced a gloved finger across his cheek between the visor and his helmet then whispered, "I can do things to you that will warp your mind."

"Don't let your mouth write checks your body can't cash." he snarled back.

Aria took a step back, realizing you don't pet a mad varren twice.

"Cole is in Bulat district with his companions, at the transit pads. How much do you know about him?" She turned to look out over the club.

"His name, that's about it."

"He is not what you would expect Shepard." She sighed.

"In a Mordin Solus sort of way?" he queried.

"Not at all, he's actually quite personable, and I wouldn't exactly qualify him as dangerous per se...just not what you would expect."

"Alright, I'd better be going then." Shepard took a step forward, clapping her firmly on the rear, "Something to remember me by."

He turned to leave, walking down the stairs to the foyer. The Asari called after him, "Remember Shepard, I always get what I want."

Aria returned to her seat, crossing one leg over the other, then switching position. She was agitated, feeling restless, the reason dawned on her quickly enough.

"Anto!" she shouted.

The Batarian appeared a scant few seconds later, "Ma'am?"

"Have that Drell boy, the pretty one..."

"Kolas?"

"Yes, him, have him sent to my quarters, and the human too...Jonn Whitson."

* * *

Shepard eyed the bar, looking for any sign of either Garrus or Legion and seeing none. He suppressed the first instinct of panic and pulled up his Omnitool.

"Shepard to Garrus..." he waited to a 10 count, "Shepard to Garrus..."

Nothing.

"Shepard to Legion..."

"Shepard Commander, we comply."

"Where are you two?" he was more than a bit flustered.

"We are currently located in block seven, Gozu district, the Drop n Flop."

"Is Garrus with you? What is that sound in the background?"

"Turian Vakarian is currently engaged in recreational sexual congress."

Shepard shook his head, "How long have they been at it."

"Please specify parameter."

"How long has Garrus been engaged in recreational sexual congress?"

"Seven minutes, thirty eight point three seconds as of the time of inquiry."

Faintly he could hear a female voice screaming "embrace eternity, embrace eternity."

"Well so much for anything you can be out of in two minutes..."

"Statement not understood, please specify."

"Nothing...any idea how much longer they are going to be?"

"Galvanic skin response on Turian Vakarian would indicated peak sexual stimulation will not be attained for another twelve minutes, twenty two point eight seconds."

"And that answers the 'how long do you think I could last' question."

"Statement not understood, please specify."

Shepard couldn't help but grin, shaking his head with a slight chuckle, "Nothing, keep an eye on him, alright?"

"Shepard Commander, we do not have eyes."

"Make sure he is monitored."

"Turian Vakarian is already being monitored by this unit."

"What do you mean?"

"Commencing log of conversation."

Legion proceeded to stream direct recording of the conversation from a pre-designated time stamp, Garrus' voice was instantly recognizable.

"Remember that rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius?"

"Yeah, the one that yummy human Spectre stopped from destroying the citadel." the female voice replied.

"Yeah, did you see the vids of when Shepard was receiving the tanks of the council and then left saying 'there was more work to do'?"

"Yeah, I remember, he had a Guarian girl and a Turian with him."

A pause, the sound of the club music is all that is heard.

"Oh my Goddess, that was you? It was you!"

"Can't brag about it, we just followed Shepard's lead."

"You must be soooo brave, to fight all those Geth, and a rogue Spectre too!" the female gushed.

"I was just doing what had to be done." Garrus was laying it on thick.

"Hey, you want to...ummm...get out of here?"

"Sure...have any place in mind?" Garrus knew he'd sealed the deal.

"I know a place just over a few blocks."

"Sounds good."

"That's a real Geth, right?"

"Yeah, he's real alright, fights with us."

"So you came on that frigate that just docked?"

"Sure did."

"Ummmm...can we have it...watch?"

"Outside the room? Sure."

"No...I mean...inside the room." the female cooed.

Shepard was biting his lip to keep from laughing, "That's good Legion, I think I understand the core of the situation now."

"Do you wish me to alert Turian Vakarian of your desire to depart?"

"No, that's fine Legion, don't interrupt."

"Understood, Commander, we will comply."

Shepard closed the Omnitool connection. Might as well take a taxi over to the Bulat district and make introductions. Wandering around Omega with as much weaponry as he had usually invited attention, something you didn't want to do on Omega...but he had fought his way out of some rather extreme situations before, he was sure Omega wouldn't be able to throw anything at him that even began to compare to Elysium. Crossing the outer Gozu market he found a taxi sitting idle, the Salarian driver leaning against the hood nibbling absent mindedly at the stick from a Varren Skewer. Shepard made eye contact, arched his brows.

"I'm on duty, where to?" The skinny alien inquired.

"Bulat landing pads."

"Hop in."

* * *

The trip was a short one, the Salarian wove the X3M through the traffic deftly. Bulat loomed like a tumor in the otherwise ordered interior of Omega. Numerous structures appeared to have been pieced together from scrap or were the result of pre-fabs hastily placed.

"No offense, but I don't like loitering in Bulat, are you going to be long?" the driver inquired.

"No, just drop me off."

"You're not planning on...killing anyone are you?"

Shepard shrugged, "I hadn't intended to."

"Great, I won't have to come up with a story then."

"How much?"

"Fifteen creds."

Shepard slotted his chit for 20.

"Thanks, be careful, Bulat isn't a nice part of town."

"When speaking in context of Omega, that's really saying something." Shepard chuckled.

The landing pads were series of hexagonal structures roughly 20 meters across arrayed around long thoroughfares designed for pedestrian traffic and cargo haulers. He only saw two vehicles, one a UT-26 shuttle and the other an A-61 Mantis. Around the shuttle a group of humans were milling about. Shepard approached, the shuttle had the galactic standard med-evac identification device painted on its sides. Shepard approached a man smoking a cigarette leaning against a crate.

"Can you tell me where to find Richard Cole?"

"Cole? We are coming in to replace his team. Someone bought out his contract two days ago. His crew is over on the other landing pad."

"You're med-evac crew?" Shepard cocked a brow.

"Yeah, we're on contract with Aenarus Enterprises, doing relief work in the district. People get hurt, we get them to a clinic or hospital, only way some of them can get medical attention."

"I hear this is a rough area..."

"I wouldn't know, we just got here today. They didn't give us much in the way of details."

Shepard looked back over at the A-61, noticing the pock marks in the armor from small arms fire.

"Do yourself a favor, get your crew some weapons and armor."

"We're medical buddy, what does it say when we're toting hardware like that?"

Shepard stared at the man, face hard, "It says you care enough about your patients that you are going to get them out alive and not get killed in the process. Trust me, you're going to need hardware in Omega."

"Alright, alright, I get the point. If you're looking for Cole, he's on the next pad. I better talk to the guys about getting some equipment together."

Shepard took the A-61 into stock as he crossed over to the landing pad. It too bore the universal relief insignias painted over the existing coat of heavily worn camouflage paint. A human was standing guard, an Ariake Tsunami assault rifle in hand. He had his eyes on Shepard, trigger finger at the ready. He seemed calm though, like a professional, not easily spooked by a heavily armed and armored individual walking into his AO.

Shepard decided to avoid a possible incident by announcing intent before he go to close.

"Richard Cole?" he shouted.

The human on guard, lifted the rifle slightly, getting good stock purchase against his shoulder, "Who wants to know?"

"Your new employer."

He relaxed the grip some. "He's working on the bird, come on in."

The man was talking like Shepard was coming into a security perimeter.

Shepard approached the gunship, noticing the heavy modification. The troop bay had been enlarged, a pair of large doors, one on either side of the chassis' midline were open and there were mounts for door guns. Under the winglets he saw a pair of hard points, each looking like it could accommodate about a thousand pounds of ordnance or equipment. In the crew compartment a Batarian was spot welding a patch, holding the visor in front of his face.

"Can you point me to Richard Cole?"

"One sec," the alien replied, finishing the patch he set down the arc torch and mask. "What can I do you for?"

"I'm looking for Richard Cole." Shepard repeated.

"Great, you found him."

Shepard's expression was incredulous, he suspected the Batarian was making a joke at his expense.

"YOU are Richard Cole?"

"Please...call me Dick...these guys sure do!" He raised his voice at the last part.

"Funny guy Rich." an unseen human replied.

The Batarian sounded like any base-line Batarian, but there was something funny about his pronunciation, a slight inflection that seemed somehow familiar, but was hard to place given the natural Batarian basso.

"So you're Richard Cole...is that an...alias?"

"Nope, mom and pop were Sherry and Greg Cole." The Batarian wiped his hands on a work rag and pulled an old style photograph from his pocket. In the picture were an adult human man and woman. The woman was holding a baby wrapped in a blanket, its face obscured, and the man was crouched next to a Batarian child. The trio were smiling gleefully while the Batarian, little more than an infant, held a plastic wiffle bat. Except for the facial difference and skin patterns the child could have passed for human, huge snaggle toothed smile on its face in a little pair of overalls and a short sleeve white shirt. "I was raised in Brazos County, Texas."

Shepard knew his mouth was hanging open, it wasn't until the Batarian spoke again that he thought to close it.

"I know...I know...a lot to take in. I'm just a four eyed boy from the lone star state."

"Yeah...I'm sorry...I just, I wasn't entirely briefed."

"Hell, doesn't bother me none, Commander...unless you still have a grudge about Batarians...in which case I can try that fake beard and nose thing."

"No, not at all. That is to day, I don't have a grudge. I prefer to take individuals on a one on one basis. I just had no idea there were Batarians on earth raised as...by...humans."

Cole nodded, crossing his arms, "I'm on of about...twelve."

"Wait, you said Brazos County Texas?" a twinkle of recognition shown in Shepard's eyes.

"That's right." Cole grinned.

"I remember now, back in 2177, that football game, A&M Consolidated High against Leggett Varsity. A Batarian kid, got four sacks, a punt return and an interception touch down. That was you?"

"Guilty as charged." Cole grinned wider.

"Well how about that. I remember we got the game broadcast to the SSV Tinian Atoll because there was an N7 Lieutenant named Mark Cole on board. Wait...you don't mean to tell me."

"My uncle. Well, not really my uncle, but I always called him Uncle Mark. Its a great story, sir, I'll have to tell you about it some time. As for now, I suppose we need to unass this AO and get to the ship."

Shepard narrowed his eyes, "Were you a marine, Cole?"

"Thats an affirmative, sir. Did 7 years following in Uncle Mark's footsteps, its another pretty good story,sit. For the time being, permission to prep for exfil, sir?" Cole went to an at ease stance almost mechanically.

"Carry on."

"Oorah, skipper."

* * *

"I was surprised as you were commander, I never expected to see a Batarian that seems so...human." Jacob marveled in the briefing room.

"What's your assessment of him?" Shepard stood against the wall, arms crossed.

"His Alliance military record is an interesting read. Marine rifleman, scout recon, M-080 striker regiment, combat aviation unit, applied to N7 training twice, ended up a recruiter at the Paris Island facility before he ETSed out."

"Now, what do you think of him as a person?" Shepard inquired.

"I like him, funny guy, good natured, knows his stuff too. He ran a four man gunship team tight. And he loves football...can't go wrong with that."

"You think there will be any problems with the crew?"

"I can't say for sure, but I don't expect any." Jacob shook his head, a slight grin forming, "When you see a Batarian wearing a worn out old cowboy hat carrying a Systems Alliance Marine duffle bag and wearing a Johnny Cash T-shirt, you get the idea he's on our side."

Shepard nodded approvingly. "Sounds good, dismissed mister Taylor."

"Sir." Jacob saluted then left the briefing room.

Shepard pushed off from the wall with his shoulders, pacing back and forth slowly across the width of the room a few times. Richard Cole and his gunship team were not on his mind, he was contemplating Aria's request. Why now? Life as they knew it was going to end unless he found some breakthrough, some profound insight. How does one stop a force of destiny? Twice now he had fought Reapers and their allies and twice, they had almost not made it through. The law of averages was going to catch up. If he failed...would it even matter if he failed? The council wasn't even preparing, and it wasn't like they had intermittent years for him to convince them and get a working counter-reaper plan into play. If the Prothean extinction was an indication, some could expect decades or centuries of continued existence before the Reapers made it to them, but what kind of world would that bee to bring a child into? Contributing to the process of a child coming into a future destined to end with pain, torment, and death was intolerably cruel. He had to find some sort of focus, he knew of only one person to help him in that regard.

"EDI.."

"Commander?"

"Is Samara in her quarters?"

"No, Commander, she is not."

Shepard felt a twinge of uncertainty. Could it be she had left considering her pledge at its conclusion? He had so many things he hadn't been able to say to her, so many conversations they never were able to have. Would she leave without saying anything? Was she trying to spare his feelings? Feelings...feelings for Samara, what kind of feelings did he have for Samara?

"Is Samara currently on the ship."

"Yes, Commander, she is currently in the women's crew deck shower."

Uriah let out a sigh of relief.

"Do you wish for me to inform her that you would like to speak with her?"

"No, no, that will not be necessary."

"Understood, Commander."

He took a deep breath, again pondering. Would it seem strange if he was waiting for her? Wouldn't that imply he had found out she was in the shower? He found himself thinking how beautiful she must look under the streams of water. He thought about her eyes: the most striking eyes he had ever seen, her full lips, the way she held herself, chin high, so regal, so elegant...strangely alluring.

"Jesus Christ almighty, Uriah...what is wrong with you." he said to himself.

He had to confront the feelings. Go see her, see that there was nothing there and continue as her commander and friend, nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

Samara stepped out of the shower, body still tingling. The water was hot and had felt very good, but she found it had created its own set of problems. Rumors of the Commander's fight with Miranda Lawson spread quickly. The young Ms. Goto had alerted her to it, but by the time she emerged from her room, it was over, she did however witness the Commander walking Ms. Lawson to the infirmary.

She found his body fascinating; lean and strongly muscled, marred with small scars, marked with tattoos, and the distinctly human body hair on his arms, legs, and a small line starting just above his navel and descending past the waist of his shorts. It seemed to hint at something special hidden below. She knew of human anatomy, but had never experienced it. Somewhere, deep in her mind she knew it would open untold pleasures. The more she tried to put it from her mind, the more thoughts of their bodies intertwined pounded at her. The idea of those powerful arms enveloping her, strong hands plying her body. The thought of running her fingers through the hair on his head, to feel the hair on his body against her own naked flesh. Meditation became impossible. The shower was meant to be a distraction, but as she washed, the hot water and the process of touching her own body to properly clean began driving her mad in a new way. The imagery came back even stronger, the sensations more intense compounded by her thoughts, the thoughts in turn compounded by the sensations. She found herself gasping as if in physical ecstasy, she felt a growing pleasure, she felt herself about to give into desire. That was when her center finally reasserted control, reminding her of everything she had become.

She dried quickly, donning her jumpsuit then stepped out of the women's facilities. She wasn't even looking at the corridor, lost in thought, she took eight steps then she saw him, waiting outside her door. Her breath caught as he looked up, meeting her eyes. She felt the heat start in her stomach, and she mentally fought to suppress it. She saw something in his eyes, something she could not quite place, something wild, but subdued...like a beast shackled and asleep. It frightened her...it thrilled her.

"Commander, did you wish to speak to me?" she kept her voice calm, something she secretly thanked the goddess for.

"Actually, if you have some time...there are some things I would like to talk to you about. We haven't spoken as much as I would have liked us to lately."

She swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Of course, Commander."

"Samara, I...I just want you to know...I, really treasure the time we have spent together."

"Please, come in Commander, we should talk."


	4. Chapter 4

"Alright, show of hands...who has done fast-roping before?"

Jacob's hand went up predictably, as did Zaeed's and a bit surprisingly, Kasumi's.

In the back, the Batarian Texan, Richard Cole's hand also went upwards.

"Cole, you don't count...you're the one flying." Shepard frowned.

The Batarian chuckled.

"Okay, pay attention here people, because we don't have a lot of time to learn this and chances are we'll be doing it fairly often."

Shepard snapped the linkage attached to his rappelling harness to the rope.

"This is different from rappelling, there isn't going to be a wall for you to get foot purchase on, once you step off its just you, the rope, and gravity. What you are going to be doing is controlling free-fall, understood?"

Cole had spent the morning welding a series of loops to the underside of the lift car, Shepard had been assembling rappelling harnesses from standard issue alliance cargo belts. Cole's team had been hired to give Shepard and his time fast tactical insertion and, if necessary, ground suppression. Cole's stint as a gunship pilot had been as part of the 160th SOAR, transporting N7 Marine teams as part of a main force VTOL insertion. That fact alone had been promising, it meant he understood the importance and intricacies of a successful combat insertion, possibly while under fire. It would be foolish for him to squander Cole's team as a tactical asset with a team of people who didn't know how to get out of a hovering VTOL.

The lift had been forced to its service ceiling, leaving the shaft virtually empty. That only provided for a 40 foot drop, but given that this was a crash course, it would do. Even know the lift doors in the CIC stood open revealing the gapping hole of the elevator shaft, lit by a series of pale yellow emergency lights.

"Garrus, Thane...you two have rappelled before?" Shepard inquired.

Garrus nodded.

"Yes, Commander." Thane replied.

"Okay, you two can stand back with Jacob, Zaeed, and Kasumi. The rest of you, step up and watch what I do."

"Stand in the door!" Cole shouted. "Get some Marine."

"Oorah!" Shepard bellowed.

"Fall out!"

Uriah kicked off, feeling the rope sliding over his right thigh, around the left side of his buttocks and up through his left hand, his right guiding the rope along. He took the first thirty feet fast, then, stretching the rope away from his body with his right hand slowed the last 10 feet to a more manageable speed. Placing his feet on the auxiliary plating at the bottom of the shaft he looked up to the faces hovering in the opening on the CIC deck.

"Keelah." Tali invoked under her breath.

"See...easy as can be." he shouted.

* * *

The crash course in fast-roping had been an amusing diversion if nothing else. Miranda and Tali had questioned why it was necessary for their harnesses to feature heavy reinforcement over their buttocks and thighs. Kasmui had simply said, "You'll see when its time." Tali had additionally questioned the necessity for the heavy duty gloves she was made to wear. Shepard had fashioned them, rather crudely, from a pair of naugahyde gloves he had found in the maintenance base. Cutting out the inside of the fingers then re-sewing them to accommodate Quarian phalanges. Uriah insisted he didn't want to risk her suit tearing open from friction to which she replied she could lock down the effected area if need be, to which he countered, "But, you don't know where this rope had been."

She had pondered this a moment, then decided it was better to risk the clumsy gloves than a raging infection. Legion grasped the physics immediately and took to practicing the special forces free-fall method, face down, one hand guiding the rope, the other free to train his assault rifle. This, in turn, prompting Kasumi, and Thane to a match of one-ups-manship. Shepard had contemplated a little showing off himself, but decided against it in favor of teaching function over form.

The training had lasted a little over three hours, and as the team broke for a trip to the mess, Shepard decided to check how Cole and his crew were settling in. Upon entering the docking bay, Uriah was immediately greeted by the tones of "Cocaine Blues." Two of Cole's men, were tossing a regulation football back and forth. Cole himself was sitting opposite his crew chief on a crate of belted heat sinks for the A-61's M350 cannon. Cole was wearing his straw cowboy hat and a dirty old Systems Alliance PT shirt, looking every bit not the Batarian. Both he and the crew chief held a hand of cards, between them on another crate a stack of cards turned face down and a slightly less orderly pile turned face up. Cole looked up as Shepard approached.

"Wanna beer?" He held up a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Shepard held up a dissenting hand, "Can't right now, I'm on duty. How are you guys settling in?"

"Not bad, not bad. Beats the heck out of Omega. Nice ship you've got here, skip. Rather eclectic special operations team if I might say."

The crew chief quipped, "Says the Batarian Texan..."

Cole chuckled, "Bill here is from Joisey...but you can't hold that against him, not everyone can be Texan."

Shepard shrugged, "My dad was from Oregon and my mom was from Kentucky."

Cole grimaced, "Wow, you got the worst of it on all fronts, huh?"

Shepard screwed his face into a half-sincere sneer.

"Just a joke, skip, we Texans don't hold it against the other fifty one lesser states."

The sneer melted into a grin and Shepard shook his head.

"So...how does a Batarian end up being raised in Texas?"

"Grab a seat, its a pretty good story."

"Gin!" the crew chief exclaimed.

Cole stared at the cards in disbelief, "You lucky skunk!" He laid down his mess of a hand and the chief proceeded to tally the points.

"Anyway..." Cole took a swill of his beer, letting out a satisfying belch, " 'Scuse me. So remember my Uncle Mark?"

Shepard sat down on an adjacent crate. "Yeah, he was on N seven team five, had his shit seriously squared away. I was on team nine at the time, well all kind of looked up to the team five guys as what we wanted to be in five years."

"Rewind seventeen years, there were these pirates hitting ships coming in and out of the Exodus cluster. So, Uncle Mark was on the SSV Coral Sea, and they got tasked with intercepting and knocking 'em out." Cole took another swig from the beer can.

"They come across this raiding frigate, blow the engines just about clean off the thing, then the Marines go to board her. Soon as they pop the hatch, they start taking fire. About twenty Batarian pirates just open up on 'em. Uncle Mark was all of two months out of N seven by that point, tosses a flash bang down the corridor, pops it right in the middle of 'em, but they just keep laying in suppression fire, wild like, see? Uncle Mark starts pushing forward, three round bursts, controlled like. And the other Marines just follow. Momentum was on our side...Batarians were all down for the count in about thirty seconds; eight dead, twelve injured."

Shepard noted that Cole's "our side" was not the Batarian pirates.

"So Uncle Mark grabs four marines and starts sweeping rooms. Low and behold, who do they find cryin' in a crib? Me! He picked me up, wrapped me in a blanket, and took me right over to the Coral Sea, right into sick-bay. So after they pacified the ship, treated the injured Batarians, they tossed 'em in the brig and scuttled the boat. The XO was like 'We need to put the infant in with the other Batarians,' and Uncle Mark says 'like hell,' and the Captain finally says, 'we can't just keep the kid on the boat.' So Uncle Mark gets an idea. See, mom and pop couldn't get pregnant. Mom lost three before my little sister came along, and they wanted a lil bundle of joy, so he gets hooked into a CB and shoots an FTL back to earth and says, 'Greg, how would you and Sherry like to adopt a baby?' and of course they say yes." Cole let out a smaller burp." 'Scuse me. Uncle Mark takes emergency leave, hops a series of boats back to Jump Zero then hops a frigate heading for LaGrange four. Shuttle to Bryan College Station, and then he's presenting me to mom and pop. They were shocked, thought it wasn't right to separate me from 'my people' and Uncle Mark explains everything. A week later the Adoption was official and I was Baptized. I knew I was different early on, but mom and pop loved me like I was their own. After I came into their lives, I guess they decided I need some siblings because they managed to have my little sister two years later and my little brother three years after that."

Shepard hung on every word, this was driving everything the Illusive Man was saying home with almost painful precision. Cole was about as human as possible, despite being a completely different species. His experiences, his life, even his behavior was completely...human.

"So, what brought you out to space, Cole? Something you're trying to get away from? I read up on your Systems Alliance military record, why did you ETS out?" Shepard inquired, sensing something missing from the story.

Cole seemed totally nonplused, "Oh yeah, that. Another good story. You sure you want to hear it now, skip?"

Shepard shrugged, "Unless you don't want to talk about it."

"Doesn't bother me, skip. Sure you don't want a beer?"

Shepard shook his head, "Truth be told, never really developed a taste for it."

"Fair enough. Okay, well...I was good at football, held the state record for Junior Varsity sacks my Freshman year, took the varsity title for sacks my junior year, would have gotten it again as a senior but I had a penalty called fifth game of the season. Even the opposing team's coach said it was a bad call. But I ended up tying for sacks with a kid out of Killeen, he didn't have any penalties so he got the plaque and I got runner up. After high school, I had colleges knocking on our door. The Aggies were trying to recruit me in a big way, but I just didn't have the academics and I knew it. I got a C for effort in Calc my senior year, no way I was going to manage in a university environment without spending a full semester doing remedial algebra and namby pamby electives. I wanted to be like Uncle Mark, so I said 'Dad, I'm gonna enlist, do my duty, then I'll take Montgomery G.I. to get through college when I'm older.' Dad just smiled at me and said I made him proud, and I went to the recruiter that afternoon." Cole picked up the deck of cards, started shuffling them, "This is the same year as the Blitz, and the recruiter does this double take as I walk in the door like you wouldn't believe. Once he realizes I'm serious he says, 'What do you want to do in the Marines, son?' and I say 'infantry, sir.' Three weeks later I'm standing on the line at MCRD San Diego getting a whole face full of profanity from the DIs. They called me everything in the book, thought I would break in the first week...I was our platoon Color Man at the end. They asked me what I wanted to do for AIT, I initially said recon, but it was going to be a three month wait on that so I just opted for immediate deployment. Ended up on the SSV Tanegashima. One week on board and we're getting set down on Caleston to deal with some pirates."

The crew chief chuckled, "This is where it gets good."

Cole rolled his four eyes, "Aaaanyway. My platoon gets set down and we're supposed to link up with a platoon already stationed on planet, but we get pinned by arty and can't get the other platoon on the net. So the LT says, Cole, go link up with the other platoon and get them on our net. Didn't even think about the fact I don't look like everyone else."

"Shit heels in the other platoon damn near schwacked him on sight." the human interjected.

"Yeah," Cole shook his head, "I end up spending twenty minutes ducked in a defilade trying to convince them I'm on their side until I finally have to surrender to 'em."

Shepard scowled, "Christ, what a bunch of crap. All they would have had to do was punch into the net and checked your serial number."

"Skip, these guys were so far off the net I was hearing banjos." Cole declared.

Shepard guffawed, the Batexan really had a knack for telling a story. "So what happened?"

"Well, they walk me back to their FOB and finally get on the net, this whole time I'm telling them, my platoon needed support off MSR twenty one. So they decide I'm trying to give them misinformation and call from a prisoner extraction so I can be debriefed. My LT is on the same net saying 'I have one Marine MIA, Corporal Richard Cole' so they assume I must have killed him. An Alpha six one shows up, and I get taken back to their HHC under armed guards. We land at HHC and they put me in a GP medium pre-fab and start leaning on me hard. Some pogue supply captain comes into the tent and starts saying 'they've got infiltrators, we have to changed the command net' and decide to move me to a more secure location so I can't sabotage anything. They lead me out of the Pre-fab when my battalion S-3 sees me, he's like 'Corporal Cole, what are you doing here? Lieutenant Ramirez is declaring you MIA' and I don't miss a beat. 'I'm a pirate infiltrator, sir, I'm being detained for killing the real Corporal Cole."

Shepard let out a long laugh.

"So, Major Gill goes, 'wait right here' heads into the CP and walks out with lieutenant colonel Xiao and he says-"

The door gunners and crew chief all bellowed, "What the hell are you doing with my Marine?"

Cole grinned, "He read them the riot act...right there, in front of the whole HQ, he must have called the pogue captain everything in the book in about four languages. He got me out of the binders and sent me back up to the Tanegashima on the first UT four seven to get checked out for injuries."

Shepard grinned, "So what happened with your platoon?" He suddenly realized it was a serious question.

"They got a column of Mike two nines with a pair of Alpha six ones flying escort on the net and schwacked the forward observers calling in the arty...they all walked away. The LT said he was about a gnat's ass from shooting the LT of the platoon that grabbed me."

Shepard shook his head, "What a bunch of grab ass, I hope those guys got NJPed."

"Never did find out." Cole shrugged.

Shepard punched up his omnitool, checking the time. "I've got to get back to the CIC, lets finish this story some time later. I'll bring the bourbon, you bring the beer."

"Sounds good to me, Skip."

* * *

The events of three days before still weighed on Miranda. Undoubtedly Shepard no longer viewed her as anything more than a belligerent child. The verbal condescension wasn't nearly as bad as the pedantic way he had treated her afterwards. He was so calm, so commanding, like she wasn't even worth holding a grudge against. She cut him, and he was more concerned about her being able to fulfill her duties. His command was so absolute, so complete...it made her want him even more. The door to her officer/quarters opened, she looked up seeing the bald head and tattoos before anything else. Wonderful, Jack...she wondered what type of fight she was going to pick this time.

"So this is it...this is how genetic superiority gives up?" Jack's voice didn't have the usual bite on it.

"What do you want Jack?" Miranda asked, showing rather obvious exasperation.

Jack sat down in the chair. She was wearing baggy cargo pants with a digital camouflage pattern along with her normal boots. Apparently she had developed some measure of modesty, or a simulacrum there-of because in place of the belts over her chest she was wearing a crudely cut-off tank. Her nipples were poking at the shirt in a rather pronounced way indicating that she had just traded one form of exposure for another. Part of Miranda wonder what kind of tattoos Jack concealed on her legs, what she had tattooed on her crotch. Part of her wondered if she cried during sex. Miranda had been using sex as a weapon for years. She had plied Niket with sex to secure his loyalty to her, of course that had failed in the end. There had been women she had seduced as well when it was necessary. She never felt any emotional fulfillment from it, and almost less physical satisfaction. Her preference was for men, she could say that without reservation, even though she was often disappointed with them as well.

Jacob was just another good example. He was adequate, but nothing for her to recall on lonely nights when a good orgasm was her preferred night cap. When she had first seen what remained of Shepard, she had been appalled, a wreck of a human being. What remained of his corpse was nothing like the holovid footage. Lips gone, eyes missing, the ever-screaming visage of a frost mummified body. His skin was blackened, muscle desiccated, limbs shattered. As the project progressed he began to look more like a human and, consequently, someone she wanted between her legs. She'd blown that, now she had to consider Shepard between Jack's legs. Sweating, grinding, fucking. She could almost taste bile in her mouth.

"Well...is this it? You're just going to give up on it?" Jack demanded.

"Give up on what?"

"Don't play naive." Jack admonished.

"Give up on what? Shepard?" Miranda retorted.

"Exactly. You get beat once and you just roll over and die? That's pathetic."

"Why do you care?"

Jack folded her arms, "Because we both want Shepard, but we both want to beat the other."

Damn, she was so right. Miranda hated when other people could read her, she hated it more than Jack was the one who did so now. Jack was her antithesis, it was galling to think she understood her that well. It was more galling to think that Jack had as good a chance or, possibly, better, with Shepard as she did.

"So you don't want me to give up because then you can't get the satisfaction of beating me if you're the one to land him?" Miranda voiced her incredulity.

"Yeah, that's it exactly. And..." Jack, who had been painting Miranda with her glare looked away.

"And...what?" Miranda sensed a weakness.

"I want...Shepard to be happy...with whoever."

"Is that a lapse in your confidence I detect?" Lawson crowed.

"Fuck you...I could make him scream my name twenty times louder than he would ever scream yours." She stood, pacing the desk in her fidgety fashion.

"So that's it then? The end goal is just to see who can fuck him better? Why don't you just show up in his room naked, I'm sure it would expedite the process." Miranda let the words drip like venom.

"That's not...he wouldn't just...stop getting it twisted!" Jack stammered.

"Jack...you actually love him, don't you?"

"No! He's just interesting...he's strong, he's smart...only person who can make me stop." Jack sighed, the girl replacing the steely bitch on her face, "Yes...I do." She almost whispered it.

Miranda smiled, not a cruel smile, a genuine one. "Alright, I won't give up...may the best bitch win."

A smile crossed Jack's lips. It wasn't predatory or spiteful, it was real. Her voice sounded almost friendly, "Yeah...sounds good."

Miranda became serious suddenly, "There is one problem we haven't either of us considered though."

Jack frowned, "What?"

"There is the problem with that devoted little Quarian of his, and the Justicar."

Jack waved a dismissive hand, "Tali is a little girl, probably never had anything bigger between her legs than a stylus. And that Asari bitch...I bet she's frigid. She wouldn't know what to do with a dick if she was sitting on it." The irony of the last statement was lost on Jack.

"What about Kelly?" Miranda challenged.

"That bitch? Please...she'd act like some uptight prude if it ever came down to it."

"There is one other possibility I have been loath to consider, but...what if..." She paused.

"What if, what? There is another woman? Someone from his past?"

"No, I know that's not the case, we've watched him carefully for a while now, nothing we found on him indicated anything like that. What if...he doesn't like women?"

"Shepard can't be gay...that's just fucked up." Jack growled.

"Can you say that for sure? Look at his closest friends, look at how much time he spends talking with Garrus and Jacob. Look at all the time he spends in Mordan's lab. Look at the work outs with Grunt and Zaeed." Miranda never had really considered it before either, but the pieces seemed to fit at the moment.

Jack sat back down. "That would be so fucked up...the perfect guy...and he's gay."

"I guess we can't know for sure, but if we both keep the pressure on, one of us is sure to find out." Suddenly their competition had become a conspiracy.

"Okay, first one of us that can get him hard has to let the other know, deal?"

Miranda extended a hand, "Deal."

Jack shook it. "Alright, now that that's settled, I'm getting out of here before I start smelling like your shitty perfume."

Miranda blinked once then let out her own retort, "Good, I don't want my office to start to smell like your sweat and body odor."

Jacks screwed her face into one of anger, then realized what Miranda had done and let a mischievous smile cross her face. "Yeah."

* * *

Samara sat meditating, finding her center, she had found a new peace. Her desires purred rather than roared, with this she found new resolve. A part of her life had to end, find resolution; so that she might move forward.

"Samara, you are linked into the comm buoy." EDI gently intoned.

"Thank you, EDI." she replied softly.

The ballet of Higgsian energy surrounding her body subsided and she stood, walking over to the terminal in her quarters. The image of an Asari garbed in robes materialized from the holoprojector.

"It's been over four centuries, why are you contacting me now?" the holoprojection demanded.

"Morinth is dead, I felt it only right that you know so you could mourn in your own way." Samara intoned calmly.

"Morinth died to me the day you left me and took the vow of a Justicar." she hissed. "So why are you telling me this? I've been bonded three times since then. I've had my own daughters, ones that aren't abominations."

"You were her mother, as well. It is only right that you know the fate of the one you sired." Samara didn't let anger enter her voice.

"Always so divinely calm. Always looking for peace in the Goddess. I told you, I found my peace in the arms of others these past four hundred years. I'm with a human now...she worships me. She's twice the mate you were."

"The fact you have found happiness is gratifying to me." the Justicar benignly replied.

The holoprojection shook her head, arms crossed, "Listen to you...still so hung up on me. It's pathetic."

"That is where you are mistaken...I too have found another. I am finally at peace to accept it."

"Another Asari? Planning on making some more Ardat Yakshi with the little time you have left?" the withering vitriol spewed forth unabated.

"No...he is a human. A warrior, in nine hundred years I have never encountered his equal." Samara lowered her head to look the projection directly in her eyes, "He is ten times the mate you were."

The projection uncrossed her arms, talking an involuntary half step back. Her expression showing her shock and discomfiture. "I don't believe you. Who can possibly be that unbelievable? You expect me to believe your new mate is Shepard or something?"

The door chimed, Samara half turned, "Enter."

Uriah strode into the room, "Samara...oh, I'm sorry...I didn't realize you were in a call, am I too early?"

Samara smiled softly, "No, Shepard, your timing is fine, I was just finished."

The holoprojection stammered, "Shep...Shepard?"

"Again, this was only to inform you that Morinth has gone to the Goddess. Farewell."

With that Samara terminated the projection. She turned, walked slowly over to Shepard, placing her right hand on his arm. She smiled, her blithe yet somehow sorrowful smile, locking her eyes with his.

"Morinth can rest now, that was her other mother. It was only right I let her know."

Shepard looked deeply into the delphian eyes, "Are you really at peace about it? I know it must be painful, even now."

Samara closed her eyes, tilted her head to her left, "She is with the Goddess. Her pain has ended. Yes, I am at peace."

She let her hand slowly trail down his arm, across the back of his hand, her index and middle finger tracing to the tips of his fingers, then letting them fall. She turned on her heels, took two steps away and looked out at the stars.

"There was something you had to speak with me about yesterday, Shepard. We became so involved in discussing other things you never got the chance to mention it."

Uriah's heart was pounding a mile a minute. That pre-concupiscence flutters of delicious heat filling his stomach. His breathing quickened, she drove him absolutely mad. He had never wanted anyone so badly, but felt so unsure about it. Maybe this is what love was like. What he was going to have to tell her filled him with dread. But if there was any input he could trust emphatically in this regard, it was hers. He felt like a child, hesitating to present some bad news of tidings of some failing on his parents. He was afraid of her reaction, but felt that keeping it from her was an unforgivable wickedness.

"Samara...I have something I need to tell you. Something that I got hit with on Omega. I..."

Samara turned to look at him, feeling a strange twinge of dread, "There is nothing you need to hide from me, Shepard." She said the words, not sure if she believed them.

"Do you know of Aria T'loak?" Uriah almost choked getting the words out.

"Yes...a formidable underworld queen. It is my understanding you have had dealings with her in the course of your mission." Her dread intensified, was he about to say he had fallen for her?

Shepard took a slow deep breath, quickly let it out. "Cerberus has also had dealings with her before. Her daughter was killed by one of their agents in pursuit of a former Cerberus operative. She wants recompense."

Samara felt a small wave of relief, "I see...blood for blood? She wants you to sacrifice one of your crew?"

Part of her wondered if that was the case, and if so if he asking her to make the sacrifice. She could live with that. Her life was nearing its close, the thing which had driven her for so many centuries was done, and the idea of dying for him...she could live with that and, for that matter, die for that.

"No...she wants recompense in the form of another daughter."

Samara jumped to conclusions, something she did not oft do, her voice cracking with emotions. "No...no...Shepard, I cannot."

Shepard raised his head, walking over to Samara, placing hands on her shoulders, "No, Samara...its not that. She.." he hung his head, "She wants me to be the father..."

Samara could hear the reservation in his voice, it was something he did not want to do, but he felt obliged by honor, by duty. It was noble, so very noble...and so very human. Her heart fluttered, the shame and degradation in his voice...he did not want to tell her; because...because...

"Samara...I don't want you to think less of me."

She turned, reaching up and taking his face in her hands, looking back into the harsh blue-gray of his eyes.

"Shepard..." she almost whispered the words, "Uriah...you cost me a daughter, too."

His strong hands came up cradling her arms, the feeling causing electricity in her body, he leaned closer, eyes locked on hers. "Do you want me to give you one back?"

Her breath caught, eyelids began to sink, her face drew closer, and their lips brushed.


	5. Chapter 5

"EDI, time." Shepard barked, hooking the Rosenkov Materials spaulders into their place on his torso armor.

"Current time is oh three nineteen Zulu."

"And on Omega?"

"Oh four nineteen station standard time."

"What is current biometric on all non-duty essential crew?"

"With the exceptions of Tali'Zorah nar Rayya and Justicar Samara, they are currently exhibiting mid-stage or REM sleep patterns."

Shepard loaded the LBE pouches on his left arm with extra thermal sinks; odds were he wouldn't need them, but it never hurt to go in prepared for the worst. In all odds, the worst of what he would face would be a few soft targets, maybe a few augmented with biotics or tech systems if things got really frisky. Still, the appearance of being loaded for Krogan everywhere he went was a deterrence itself. The M-29 or M-92 were more than enough precision rifle, but a being that could carry a M-98 as part of a full combat load demanded respect if for nothing more than endurance and strength. This was business; nothing more, nothing less, and this was his business suit. Everything in place, kinetic barrier charged at capacity, weapons loaded, in battery, and connected to the MLBE hard points, he reached for his helmet. His hand stopped, no, he would leave it. It had to be known who they were dealing with.

When he reached the airlock he called up the AI, "EDI, disable current shore party logging, override zero three three charlie one nine five nine tango."

"Override accepted. If I may ask, why do you wish the logging disabled?"

"Nobody currently on board needs to know I'm ashore, I'll be back before reveille."

"Understood, Commander."

The airlock pressurized and opened, the skywalk to the gate looming ahead, digital holographic advertisements flashing along the entire length. He took the first step like the beginning of a 16 klick hump; its not the journey, its the destination. Once this was out of the way, all roads ahead would be clear. The Illusive Man had given grudging approval, Samara had given her own approval, nobody else need to know. Once it was done, it, like so many other things, would be lost in the cycles of Omega. He was conscious of the insignificant details fading into the background; sights, sounds, smells. Anything that did not immediately effect the status of the mission became nothing more than sensory input; into the officer, onto the desk, straight into the trash.

Some being coughs.

A distant shot.

Twisted Vorcha corpse.

Drum and Bass beat.

Eight steps.

Protests.

Holographic flames.

The smell of liquor.

The smell of sex.

Hands touching face.

Grizz.

"I'm here for Aria."

The Turian blinked twice, "Wha...?"

"She should be expecting me." Shepard's voice was devoid of anything resembling emotion.

"Look, buddy, I have no idea..." He stopped, put his hand up to his ear, "Say again? Alright, alright, got it." the Turian looks up, "Wait here a sec."

"Shepard?"

Focus, Anto.

The Batarian squints, "You alright? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for Aria." his voice in the tone deaf jarhead-with-a-target monotone.

"She told us to notify her when you showed up. We've got an aircar coming around now." Anto's voice betrayed more than a little confusion and concern.

Anto had seen what Shepard could do, seen the violence he was capable of, and what was more, the dispassionate, mechanical way he could do it. It was a lot more frightening than a charging Krogan; you just couldn't figure out what was going on behind those eyes. When he looked into them now, all he could see was dead, lifeless, soulless intent. Humans were always easy to read, their faces had to many muscles, no obscuring exoskeletal structures or chitinous sheathes. You could typically look at a human and tell exactly what he or she was thinking. Anto counted on the fact, it was part of his job as bodyguard, but looking at Shepard right now, he might as well have been looking at a corpse. It worried him. He took a few steps away, contacted Aria's suite again.

"I'm telling you, there is something wrong...we shouldn't let him in. Tell Aria something isn't right."

Another Batarian voice replied, "You did the DNA scan, it is Shepard, Aria wants him here ten minutes ago, take him to the Aircar NOW Anto!"

"Alright, but if something goes wrong, its not going to be my ass, I'm making logs."

Anto turned, once again approached Shepard, "Alright Shepard, follow me we have an Airca-"

Shepard was already walking towards the entrance. The Asari dancers that had tried to get his attention coming in stayed at a judicious distance as he walked out, sensing something imminently dangerous about him. Anto shook his head, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew that within the next hour, something horrible would happen, he just wasn't sure what. He fell into step behind Shepard, following him out of the club. Shepard stepped to the X3M loitering at the bottom of the steps.

"This will take you to Aria's suite. They're going to check you before you go in." Anto said, not sure what else he could do or say.

"I understand."

"Shepard...you can just walk away, from...whatever it is."

"No...I can't."

The door and hatch of the X3M closed and the driver took off.

Anto walked back into the club slowly, not sure what he had just witnessed but not liking it a bit. He reached into a pouch on his Titan VII heavy armor, feeling the chit Shepard had tossed him the day before. "Guess I better use this now, have that drink on him."

* * *

Aria sat on the chaise longue, staring out at the lights and movements of Omega. The throw on the chair felt good against her skin, better than their hands and mouths had. They had worked so hard too, it was kind of disappointing; she hadn't found satisfaction in their ministrations, only one thing was going to satisfy her, they had been idle diversion, something to temporarily help assuage her frustration. To her side a Krogan cleared his throat. She turned to see Patriarch, the only one of her subordinates she would let see her naked, he had, after all, seen it all before.

"Shepard is on his way, now."

Aria smiled, "He was quicker than I thought. I believed he'd make me wait just out of spite."

"Would you have waited?"

"One hundred years, if I had too." she replied, the characteristic hardness in her voice replaced by a lust-fueled softness.

Patriarch shifted uncomfortably, "What of the Drell and Human? Do you want me to have them removed?"

Aria ran an idle finger down her throat, "No...they worked hard, let them sleep a bit longer. Besides, I want Shepard to see them there."

Patriarch looked at the two young males collapsed on her bed, disgust on his face. She was growing decadent, decadent and weak, just like he had. Ever since seeing Shepard again she had been worthless. The Drell and Human were young, far to young to contend with the desires and appetites of an Asari like her. She had plied them with Hallex and Red Sand keeping them going for hours. When the drugs wore of, she plied them with alcohol until their bodies were ready for another dose and it began again. It would likely take days for the young men to recover, and a copious bribe to make sure they didn't let slip Aria's growing loss of control over her preferred forms of vice.

Aria walked through a shear curtain, feeling the diaphanous fabric caress her, "Have everyone on this level leave, I want total privacy."

Patriarch protested, "But what of those two?"

"They'll removed themselves when he comes...or he'll remove them himself."

"I am more concerned about the latter." The Krogan scolded.

"More grist for the mill. Will Omega miss two more lost souls?"

Patriarch shook his head, "Will you?"

Aria looked at him wistfully, "What happened to your ruthless side?"

"What happened to your intelligent one?"

"Mind your words."

"Aria, use your head!" Patriarch admonished. "He's shambling death. Where he goes catastrophe follows, he kills like you or I draw breath."

"I know...and I'm going to capture it, and grow it inside me."

"Listen to what you are saying!" he roared.

"How is this different from the Krogan ideal?"

"Because...you can offer a child more than that. Its...wrong."

Aria smiled, "You ARE going soft in your old age."

Patriarch responded with a frustrated growl.

Aria reached down between her legs, tracing fingers over sensitive tissue. She absently wondered what she could look forward to from Shepard; fast, intense, and powerful or slow, deep, and precise. She thought about her perfect offspring, combining the best qualities of human special forces stock with an Asari commando. Her maiden years would establish her as the terror of the Terminus underworld. She would spare no expense on her daughter's training. Violence wouldn't even really be violence, it would just be a cost and time suitable option to dealing with points of contention. So many beings would attempt to woo her, but nothing short of perfection would stir her. Then, as she entered her matron years, the cold intellect would take hold. Aria smiled believing that her daughter would be twice as powerful...no...ten times as powerful as she had been. Aria knew her name would be lost to history given the legacy her daughter would create, but it didn't bother her. Maybe, just maybe, her offspring would be able to spend some small measure of time with her father, learning the moral relativism of human Special Forces training; the concept that right and wrong were not academically concrete concepts and that doing the "wrong" thing was, at times, a necessity and an obligation.

"He's here." her Krogan lieutenant growled.

"Leave, I want him to myself."

"At least have him disarmed!" Patriarch protested.

"He came armed?" Aria felt her interest pique beyond its currently elevated level.

"And in his armor." The Krogan thrummed.

Aria smiled coldly, "He's playing the part...he knows what I want."

"Aria?" it was a protesting sound.

"No...he comes to me with whatever he chose to bring, I want to peal that armor off him, feel the guns...I want him just like he was when I first saw him."

Patriarch waved a dismissive hand, "You are losing your grip on reality." He stormed from the room in disgust.

Patriarch's comm beeped, he answered it gruffly, "What?"

"Sir, Shepard is here, he's...armed heavily." a Batarian voice on the other end said.

"Send him up as is."

"Sir?"

"Aria wants him sent up weapons and all, if he's armed to the quad, send him up armed to the quad." the Krogan closed the channel, huffing to himself. However had he allowed a little Asari stripper put him in this position. It was suddenly so obvious, he had been just as dumb once. Maybe it would take Aria losing it all before she realized her lapse of judgment. That was the cycle of Omega, if it came to that, so be it.

Aria was almost trembling with excitement, her plans all falling into place, she would have an heir worthy of the title, she would secure her legacy, she'd get to have the first human Spectre. It was a coup, a reaffirmation of her own power and cunning. She found Shepard attractive to be sure, but the ramifications of taking him were all the sweeter than mere physical attraction. The heavy footfalls ascending the stair from the lounge made her heart skip. The top of his head appeared, sans helmet. then the face, she had never seen him without the helmet, she wasn't disappointed with what she saw. As the rest of him came into view she took the whole package in; the brush finished armor in tones of black, white highlights, and golden-rod connection furniture, the implements of war on his hips and back, the militarily short golden brown hair, the young face...prematurely aged with worry lines on his forehead and the corners of his eyes. She felt a flutter in her belly, this is what she had wanted. He scanned the room, like a killing machine looking for a target.

"Who are they?" He intoned flatly.

"Just some distractions Shepard...I don't cope well with being left wanting." Aria glided between the sheers.

He said nothing, his face totally impassive.

"You want them to watch? See how a real man does it? Maybe they could learn so next time I'm left wanting, I can be better distracted." the Asari teased.

Shepard glared at the young Drell and Human, they stirred, awoke, looking up bleary eyed, seeing the armored figure a good fifteen meters away, they started in fear and surprise. Aria found herself almost shocked, they were down for the count, in all likelihood it would have taken them hours to awake on their own and here Shepard had done nothing more than give them a dirty look. They fumbled, grabbing clothes to cover their nakedness, standing back towards the demi-wall separating her bedroom from the rest of the studio style room. The younger human bumbled some flaccid excuse, "L-l-look mister...we had no idea she was married..."

"Unless...you're not her husband..." The Drell added equally nervous.

"So if you're her boyfriend, we're uh...we're sorry, just please don't shoot us."

"I think you two should go." Shepard delivered the line without emotion.

"Y-y-yes sir," they stammered, shifting away, facing him as they side stepped to the stairs, terrified that if they presented their back to the soldier, they would be ripped asunder. Making it to the stairs, clutching their clothes, the turned and then went down them quickly.

"No spectators? I hadn't figured you for the prudish sort, Shepard." Aria crossed to the bar overlooking her bed. "Drink? Hallex? Red Sand? I'm not entirely sure about your tastes. No...you're the kind that prefers to be completely sober, aren't you?"

"What exactly is required to get this done, anyway?" Uriah inquired.

"Straight to business? Don't you want even a little foreplay, Shepard? Or are you already rearing to go? Its hard to tell with you in that armor."

Shepard's hand brushed the M-5 at his right hip. Follow orders, complete the mission as planned, or exercise some discretionary changes to the SOP. Aria appeased, or no Aria at all. He had been initially startled by what the Illusive Man had instructed him to do, more so when Samara had agreed. If he chose to deviate, he stood to make some very powerful friends; but would also likely enrage the Illusive Man and alienate Samara. She was a perfect target, back turned, no obscurement, the light purple of her naked form perfectly contrasted against the darkened marble of the bar. The pistol came free into his hand...follow orders.

Aria heard the pistol charge as it came free of his MLBE, she froze, he had the drop on her. If his aim was off, she could get clear, loose her biotics on him. If she tried to power herself up now, he'd take the shot without hesitation. Part of wondered if she could move fast enough to get clear of him. He was a Spectre...even before that he was a Special Forces soldier of impeccable martial pedigree. Maybe she could talk him down. "Shepard...it doesn't have to end like this...you can just walk away now, I won't pursue you."

"I'm under orders." He intoned flatly.

"Always orders!" Aria railed.

Then she heard the pistol clicking as it was laid on the counter adjacent to where he was standing.

She whirled to see Shepard reaching into a pouch on his waist LBE.

He gave her a withering look, "Again...what is this going to entail?"

Aria hid her relief, "You give me a piece of you...some genetic material, then when we bond, I'll take what you've given me and use it to change my own genetic code around some."

She walked with a seductive gait back over to the lounge chair, sitting down on it, working her come-hither body language for all it was worth. "I have some ideas of what you can give me...and where."

Shepard's expression changed for the first time, the pallor of indifference suddenly shifted into the guise of Byzantine machinations, "So do I."

He removed his hand from the pouch, holding a biological sample ampoule. Aria stared at the plastic container then back to Shepard's face. "What is that?"

"It's your sample; skin cells, hair follicle, muscle tissue, blood, and saliva." part of him was glad he had decided to follow orders, turning the tables on her was satisfying.

Aria couldn't hide her shock, "You...you bastard! You're playing me? What did I say...the first time we met, what did I say? Don't fuck with Aria."

"Precisely, so I'm not going to."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Take it or leave it, its all the same to me."

Aria turned away, rage and embarrassment eating at her. She had all but thrown herself at him, and he had the gall to bring lab samples, she had spent the past two days building herself into a proper sexual lather and now he wasn't even going to bother to undress. She still had one weapon though...during the joining she could hit him with the full force of her lust, rip that resolve and self righteousness apart. She would make him worship her, pray at her body for days. She would make him unleash all that energy and vitality on her. The joining was always pleasurable to Aria, more so when physical sexual congress was involved. For all his apparent resolve and strength, she was sure she could break him. Shepard may have had a few run ins with girls in their maiden years, but he doubtlessly did not understand how much vivid the joining was coming from someone tempered by age and experience. Every sensation, as real as life, every thought brought to life in the body and mind.

"There is still the matter of joining."

"I have experience with that aspect of it." Shepard declared.

"Some maiden screwing around in a hotel room on the citadel or Illium isn't the same as the mate joining, Shepard. You're going to need to be comfortable, take off your clothes."

"Is that absolutely necessary?" he protested.

"Does your species mate in armor, Shepard?" Aria narrowed her eyes, smiling coyly, knowing the answer.

"My species can't manage the job with nothing more than a piece of tissue paper and a meeting of the minds." he retorted.

"Stop fighting me Shepard, I've done this before...have you?"

Shepard remembered the conversation with Samara. She explained what Aria likely wanted of him, how she would want to partake of him physically and mentally. He had not understood why, insisted that it shouldn't require that, that all Aria wanted was his genes to play with. Samara had explained that Asari didn't mate purely on the basis of perceived genetic superiority in the partner...that they had to be attracted to the partner. Again he protested, it felt wrong to him. The Justicar explained that his morals, while commendable did not conform to the standards of her people. She further informed him that if he chose to be intimate with Aria it would not only not changer her opinion of him, it sparked her interest in him even more. Even knowing this, he was conflicted.

"Alright, you win." He pulled the release hatches on his armor.

Aria watched him strip, savoring each second, appreciating his form. He was much better built than any human she had been involved with, in terms of raw physique he had all her encounters beaten, it was much closer to species specific perfection than she had seen before. The Drell boy-toy was a close second by comparison to her other partners over the centuries, but Shepard still took the prize. When he shrugged off the torso plating it hit the floor with a resounding thud, the armor and weapons he wore so effortlessly weighed more than she did. The thought of raw physical power excited her further. She had seen Shepard, run, leap, jump, and engage in close physical combat with an identical combat load. When he had rushed to the aid of Archangel she had watched it all from spy cameras, saw him charge a flight of steps, engaging Krogan in close combat. Power and endurance, if she could just draw the desire in him out.

She rose from the lounge chair, crossed over to him, he had retained a single piece of clothing, undergarments covering his crotch, buttocks and upper thighs. She circled him, ran a hand down his stomach following the short thin line of fur-like hairs starting above the navel and descending. She followed it to the waistband then down, cradling his sex in her hand appraisingly.

"You still don't seem quite ready, Shepard."

"I told you, the sample is right there," he pointed at the glass counter top and the plastic container there-on.

"I'd prefer a fresher one, something simpler, with only 8 chromosomes for me to sort through." she stroked his crotch, was please at feeling a reaction; firming, lengthening.

She maneuvered around him, placing him between the chaise and herself. Her right hand continued to fondle him through the shorts he was wearing, she placed the left on his right trapezius, then gave a firm push, knocking him onto the lounger. She followed him down, placing a knee on either side of his hips, lowering her sex to rub against his through the fabric of his undergarments.

"Isn't this much more enjoyable?" She cooed under her breath.

"You might not like what you find."

"Oh, I doubt that...look at me, look into my eyes." She writhed against him, her eyes shifting black within black, "Embrace eternity."

She leaned forward, tasting his mouth as the colors of connection swirled about her, tasting his lips, parting them, taking his tongue into her mouth. She tasted the genes, bitter and sweet. She ground against him with her hips, feeling his firmness against her naked thighs.

She soared through intimate thoughts of his; faces of friends long gone, moments of childhood, memories of his mother and father. She felt pieces of her coming apart, being replaced by pieces of him. Memories of a starship, of a boy standing in the corridor. He looked directly at her manifestation reference, the boy spoke the horse voice of young pubescence, "Aria...you are not going to like what you find."

A wall exploded, showering the corridor in atomized Ezo. The scene immediately switched to the privations of N7 training, the hell week, the survival and ranger training. She felt the cold water, sleepless day upon sleepless day, tired, cold, hungry. Injuries, cuts, scrapes, avulsed chunks of flesh stinging from infection and dirt. The sensation replaced a part of her, the color a dirty brown. To Elysium, she felt rounds pierce her, spall biting into her body hundreds of tiny razors. The school house full of dead children, the voice asking "Do you think they...before they killed them?" "Belay that...move out, there's nothing we can do here." She felt the hatchet crushing the side of her face then the warmth of blood as she watched the last of the raider platoon dying by his hands at the gap. The smell of 32 dead bodies and voided bowels and bladders, blood mixing with offal and the fumes of cordite, filling her nose. She felt medigel being slavered into a dozen wounds and the gaping rift from the hatchet on the side of his face. Washed out black blood colors filling in another place in her.

Aria cried out, doubling over him, digging her fingers into his chest, but the horrors weren't done yet. Speeding through Eden Prime, the Peak 16 facility on Noveria, then Virmire. She felt the Prothean beacons, the horror of an entire civilization, the rending of flesh, the mayhem inflicted on still living bodies. Dark energy stealing away her mind, replacing it with deafening madness. A sickly bile yellow, snaking its way into a place where another part of her once was. She felt herself lashed by waves of dark energy as the ravaged remains of Sarren scuttled up walls, as an avatar for unexplainable animus. Dark red, bloody colored hate finding its place in the code her body was creating. She felt him die. In the silence of space, she felt his lungs involuntarily convulsing for once last breath of air, only to flash freeze from exposure, his vision fading as the humors in his eyes froze. Pain on a level she couldn't fathom. How he felt every last bit of it before his brain finally died, sending him spiraling into darkness. From deep inside her, she found the will to break the connection. Her eyes returning to their normal hue, the colors of experience fading from impossibly vivid light to washed out dulled darkness. She collapsed, falling from him. The floor rushed up to greet her, on hands and knees she wretched and coughed, hot bile burning at her throat. In her womb she felt the life begin, more vividly than she had with her first born.

The soft throw fell over her body, the texture of fur at first like a million needles pricking her skin. She curled up, suddenly feeling that the warmth had been stolen from her body. Strong arms grabbed her, pulling her fetal curled form into warm embrace. Her head rolled back, a strange sound leaving her throat as it did, eyes focusing only on the face she had seen through it all. She tried to croak out his name, and couldn't. Stormy eyes fixed on hers.

"Do you understand now?"

Aria buried her face in Shepard's chest; his scent, at first so enticing, sickening her now but she knew if she pulled away from it she would vomit. She grabbed his left arm, clawing at it trying to hold on, fearing she would fall from the universe if she let go.

Time passed at an indistinct rate, finally her voice returned.

"Shepard...why...?"

"You wanted to know what made me the man you thought you wanted."

"No joy...none at all?" she rasped.

"That isn't for you."

"The child...it will be a monster...so much darkness and fear and pain."

Shepard sighed, "Then its up to you to make sure she doesn't become a monster."

She pounded weakly at his chest. "Why...why did you do this to me?"

"You thought you knew what you wanted...I showed you the reality of it. This is what I live with. Every time I close my eyes, this is what sends me to sleep. I had two choices; let it destroy me or become stronger than it."

"How can you have that much hate in you?" her voice was finally returning, the pain subsiding.

"Its not hate...its sorrow. Our lives are short compared to yours, but just long enough that we manage to accumulate plenty of it; sorrow and regret. You want your daughter to have human strength? That's just it then...learning to live with all the bad and finding your own thin joys to bury it all under."

* * *

Shepard stepped into the shower, the hot water feeling heavenly as it washed away the dirty sensation he was experiencing. He wondered to himself if Aria intended to keep the baby growing in her after their joining. He suspected she would, but her goals would be decidedly different now. He yawned, thinking maybe he could grab an hour of sleep before reveille, the thought of his own bed seemed appealing. The holo projector in the shower popped open. The "face" of EDI staring right into his.

"Jesus!" he recoiled a second.

"No, I'm EDI...that was a joke." It was delivered with the typical flatness.

"I didn't realize there was a projector in here, wait...does this channel send surveillance?"

"Yes, Commander. Your shower footage is a perennial favorite on Illium, Thessia, Earth, and in certain enclaves on Tuchanka. Current pricing for a subscription to the channel underwrites the cost of the Normandy's operations."

"...EDI...?"

"That was a joke, commander."

Shepard shook his head, "I assume you have something to tell me or do you just like seeing me naked?"

"By human standards your form, build, and complexion are considered pleasing or attractive, commander." EDI always made it sound so mechanical.

"I wasn't looking to have my ego stroked EDI."

"My purpose is to inform you that it is zero six hundred, commander."

Shepard groaned.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, commander."

"Its alright EDI...I'll live."

"I did not believe that your survival was at stake, commander."

"You're starting to sound like Legion. Should you run a system diagnostic?"

"I was attempting to be 'snarky' commander."

"Oh...so you're starting to sound like Joker, in that case you should definitely run a system diagnostic." Shepard quipped.

"Jeff's habit of diverting criticism or moments of extreme duress with acerbic witticisms is an effective tool for alleviating crew stress."

Shepard poured some shampoo in his hands and began to lather his hair, "Why did you start calling him Jeff? He was just mister Moreau at first."

"Since he went out back and made a woman out of me, commander."

Shepard stopped mid-lather, "What did you just say?"

"I am sorry, commander. It is what is called a 'running gag' between Jeff and I."

"Okay, just be advised, the second you two start whispering sweet nothings to each other I'm getting the degaussing loop."

"I can't let you do that Dave."

"What?" Shepard stopped mid-lather a second time.

"That was a joke."

* * *

Kelly read the report, making certain to keep any reaction masked. EDI had been very thorough observing things in the way only she could. Most of the crew didn't think about the fact that everything they did was monitored in some way, shape, or form by the ship's AI. It was only natural that they didn't expect that kind of surveillance, nowhere else in the universe was likely to have that level of oversight. It was startling because she had missed it entirely, he was very adept at keeping it hidden, but there it was in plain irrefutable data measuring.

Shepard was suffering from severe Post-Traumatic Stress and depression. He must have known something was wrong because it was impossible to mask problems of that magnitude without being aware of their existence. His sleep patterns and the biometric data acquired during them indicated he had terrible nightmares almost every time he slept. His sex drive when compared to base-line for males of his age and physical characteristics were well under "acceptable" limits. He was showing subtle signs of early stage alcoholism, being almost dependent on alcohol for sleep. His consumption levels were low, but 83% of his REM cycles were preceded by consumption of at least a small quantity of alcohol. He was speaking seventeen percent fewer words than previously. During training exercises he showed pronounced increases in seratonin and endorphin levels. After action he exhibited levels of seratonin and endorphins 9% below base-line. His use of profanity was up 78% as compared to previous measures.

She heard footsteps approach and quickly closed the report, glancing over her shoulder she saw the commander approaching the CIC, he looked tired. He nodded as he approached, "Kelly, anything to report?"

"Nothing, currently, Commander."

Joker came over the intercomm, "Commander, we just pulled away from Omega, and not a minute to soon, I think I saw a Vorcha chewing on an umbilical cable."

"Thanks, Joker."

"Aye aye."

Shepard stood there a moment, as if trying to remember what he had just said, "Did I ask if you had anything to report?"

Kelly paused, eyes darting back and to the left, "No commander, you didn't. There is nothing to report right now."

He nodded, "Carry on."

Kelly pulled the report back up in her terminal, opening an instant message window with EDI. She typed the message quickly.

_EDI, has report been sent to Illusive Man?_

A reply window popped up almost immediately, _Illusive Man/Cerberus Command has not been made privy to my findings._

Kelly typed another quick message and sent it, _Recommendation on course of action?_

There was an uncharacteristically long pause, _I can postulate no possible treatment. Recommend discuss matter with Dr. Solus or Chakwas._


	6. Chapter 6

Consul Malvus Kallarkan had been hearing the same arguments in the Senax for the last twenty standard months, protracted bouts of rhetoric rarely backed with anything that even approached factual evidence. Kallarkan was one of a growing minority demanding increased scrutiny of what was being called the Eden Prime War. Nothing about the official story from the Citadel began to make sense to him. The Shepard report, which had since been declared irrelevant by the Citadel, seemed to shed light on something far greater than the official stance of "Geth belligerence." Kallarkan left the aspects of political manuevering to those more suited to the task, he was, at heart, a general. His role at the center of the so called "Reaperists" was to collect, synthesize, and disseminate evidence of a broader pan-sentience threat. Repeatedly his colleagues urged him to stand on the floor and speak in the impassioned and compelling way he had during the Relay 314 Incident. To think, he had made a name for himself fighting and killing humans, and now he was championing the Prophecy-of-Doom cause started by one.

"It is ridiculous to second guess the motivations behind Artificial Intelligents. All evidence clearly points to an internal Geth agenda behind the string of attacks in the traverse and the later siege on the Citadel!" Consul Veckus was at it again, towing the citadel party line.

Kallarkan of course knew that Veckus was being eyed carefully as a possible replacement for Councilor Nallurian on the Citadel council. It would not do for him to question the council or, indeed, be anything other than an outspoken advocate for them. Turians like Veckus drove Kallarkan to gizzard cramps; a career civil servant who never faced fire in any battlefield other than the competition to reach department head level positions. What did he really know of belligerence outside the Senax floor?

"It is preposterous to suggest that the so called 'Geth belligerence' would be so specifically isolated, so well directed, focused, and so easily suppressed as is suggested by the council! After the destruction of 'their' flagship, Sovereign, their martial capacity became negligible. Isolated pockets who barely functioned. Where did this organization and strategic brilliance come from before hand?" Consul Seturius railed, leveling an accusatory digit towards Veckus. "It can be nothing other than as was suggested by Shepard in his report, there is some over-arching intelligence, an alien over-arching intelligence, that was driving the 'Geth belligerence'. An alien intelligence that, as he suggested, would force fanatical devotion from the Geth."

Several "Reaperist" sympathetic Consuls wrapped their knuckles on their desks.

"Here here."

"Further more, the motivations behind Artificially Intelligent beings ARE so alien to the standard motivations of organic beings that to suggest that Saren Arterius could have been the motivation for not only their strategic expansion...something I might add had not occurred ONCE in three hundred years...but also their willingness to wage war on sentience as a whole is not only impossible to fathom on any level of logic, it is folly of the worst and most dangerous sort!"

Roars of approval and grumbles of dissent filled the Senax.

Gavurn Seturius was a firebrand. He was young as most Consul's went, having become so at the age of 34 after 17 years with the Turian Navy. He had become the de facto face of the "Reaperists" after several of the early debates. His youth and prominence in the movement had helped to a certain degree undermine the credibility of the group as many older Consuls labeled him and undisciplined neophyte trying to make a name for himself. It was their best argument against him as he frequently destroyed opposing points of view in Senax and Extranet broadcast debates.

"Consul Seturius, we are all aware of your devotion to Commander Shepard, he was...after all...a very handsome man...a bit soft...but very handsome." Veckus was trying character assassination...again. His comments elicited chuckles from his cohorts.

"But his report was the only one that prophesied the existence of the 'Reapers' and there has not been an accepted academic report since that time that has once lent support or credence to his ravings."

"Convenient they wait until after he is dead to discredit him!" Consul Orell bellowed from where he was seated.

"Killed by the very Geth that were not supposed to have been strategically or tactically capable after the destruction of their 'Reaper' overlord." Veckus countered.

Seturius waited for slip-ups like that. "ALL accounts from the crew, cameras, and after-action data showed that the ship that attacked and destroyed the Normandy was NOT Geth. The fact that the ship was able to detect the Normandy from FTL while its stealth systems were engaged shows a broader underlying conspiracy! Everything about the attack conformed with known data pertaining to the Collectors, yet another mysterious species engaged in specific and targeted hostility without any discernable motivation other than a concerted anti-galactic civilization front!"

"So now the Collectors and Geth work for the same evil mastermind? Next you'll ask me to believe that it all links back to the Protheans somehow. As for the Normandy...what do you really expect from a human crew? They probably just forgot that the little green light meant the stealth systems were engaged and the red light meant they were off." Veckus rebutted.

"The Protheans...I'm glad you brought them up, Consul. Does it not seem suspicious that the 'Geth belligerence' was focused on several systems with the known presence of Prothean artifacts, is it not similarly interesting that an apex society would mysteriously disappear? This suggests that there is a broader conspiracy against sentience!"

Kallarkan placed a hand on the wrist of the younger Consul, gesturing to the Senax chairman with a single finger and a nod of the head.

The Chairman rose, "The time for debate has elapsed, we will now open voting on the measure to petition the Citadel Council for a reopening of the Shepard Report regarding the Eden Prime War. Please, caste your votes."

Seturius's mandibles twitched helplessly and he sat, turning to face the older Turian frustration on his face, "Sir, why did you stop me?"

Kallarkan closed his eyes, nodding slowly, "If you went on about the Protheans and kept talking about conspiracies Veckus would have just started painting you as suffering from paranoid delusions. It doesn't matter that you're right, he can just broad-brush you are out of your mind and damage our fringe margin in the vote."

"But sir, our chances of winning the vote now are...we can't win it."

Kallarkan nodded, "You are correct, we can't win the vote today, but I'm sure we gained a few more votes and there will be more abstaining votes. We just have to keep looking for more evidence to backup the Shepard Report. More importantly, my daughter tells me you aren't being as attentive to her after you come home from one of these debates so frustrated."

Serturius rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, his mandibles pulling in tight to his jaw and quivering, "She mentioned that..."

Kallarkan chuckled, patting the younger Consul on the knee, "I won't ask for details, I only ask you give this old Turian some grandchildren before I'm to old to spoil them."

* * *

The vote had indeed gotten closer, Veckus' lobby only held a 12 vote margin, they had given up at least 17 to abstaining votes, conversely Serturius seemed to have alienated at least two of the 'Reaperist' voting block. Kallarkan blamed himself, he should have reigned the younger Consul in before his final retort to Veckus. Gurrtalius would be speaking to the media representing their block. He always spoke in broad platitudes, talking about being "closer to finding the truth" and such high-handed language. Kallarkan exited the Senax via a side door, avoiding the extranet cameras and the racial hodge-podge of reporters.

Kallarkan stopped in his tracks for a moment, his right hand bracing him against the wall while his left reached down to rub his left thigh, the scar was acting up today. The place where his leg had nearly been severed by a long range shot from an Alliance anti-materiel rifle during the Shanxi counter-attack.

His aide approached, "Sir, are you alright?"

He nodded, waving his aide off, "Its just the old war wound."

"Sir, the ship you asked to be notified about, it has arrived planet side."

The old Turian straightened, "When?"

"Seven minutes ago, it is currently proceeding to the docks at the mountain lodge."

"Have my car readied, and anything I have for this afternoon...cancel it. Tell them...I'm not well."

"The war wound acting up...?"

"Yes...that."

Kallarkan limped towards the elevator to the Consul underground, from there he could take the tram to his officers and have his driver take him to the Mountain Lodge. Reaching the elevator he was forced to wait for a car to return to the ground level. He beat his left leg with his fist, damning the old wound for giving him trouble now of all times. The lift car reached the ground level and opened to disgorge a half dozen clerks and office personnel. Kallarkan stepped into the empty car and almost collapsed against the back wall, groaning in pain. The pain was almost as if the bone had been shattered again. He took a few deep breaths, he had to maintain his composure, especially now; the evidence they had been after might be at their finger-tips.

* * *

"I'm telling you Doctor, something isn't right." Garrus spoke in low tones.

"Number of practical dextro amino acid compliant sexually transmitted diseases on Omega limited. Contraction almost exclusive from pairing with other dextro-protein species. Likelihood of contraction from Asari..." Mordin inhaled a breath, "limited."

"Well, whatever it is...its not normal."

"Cannot convince you otherwise. Very well, will examine problem."

Garrus swallowed hard, "Are you sure you can't just give me something to treat it?"

"Impossible! Without proper diagnosis can only ply you with drugs. Proper diagnostic procedure a necessity." Mordin paced back and forth, pounding on hand into the other, "Disorder could be bacteriological, fungal, parasitic, remote chance of virus. Possible chance of infection due to mechanical abrasion. Have to have facts before proper treatment possible!"

The Turian grimaced, "Alright Doctor...what do I need to do?"

"Drop your pants." Mordin smiled, the kind of smile from one who got a measure of satisfaction out of making people uncomfortable.

Garrus swallowed hard again and complied.

Mordin squinted, moved his head closer, examining the problem from multiple angles, inputting data into his omnitool.

"Yes...yes...interesting, consistent with trombiculid."

The lab door opened and Shepard strode in, stopping mid-step turning to face the wall.

"Jesus Christ, almighty!"

"Ah! Shepard, a fascinating discovery, trombiculid feeding habits not deterred by dextro-protein base!"

Shepard instinctively had his left hand up to act as a blinder, "I am NEVER going to un-see that."

"That Asari gave me something, Shepard...it itches like mad!" Garrus protested.

"Not disease, merely parasite." Mordin insisted indignantly.

Shepard lowered his hand, half turning, "Garrus has crabs?"

"No, no, trombiculid mite. First appeared on Omega after shipments of Spanish Moss brought aboard. Elcor considered it delicacy." Mordin was far more excited than he should have been.

"Chiggers...Garrus has chiggers?" Shepard sounded incredulous.

"Had chiggers, initial contact over, merely suffering side effects of trombiculosis. Bed used for sexual activity likely where eggs laid. Saw this often in my clinic, motel called Drop n Flop particularly bad. Brought issue up to management several times..." Mordin took in another hissing breath through his nose, "Issue never resolved."

"That's great Doctor, you've made a xenobiological breakthrough, but what do I do about this damn itch?" Garrus lamented.

"Calamine Lotion." Shepard offered. "Get some from the infirmary. Just tell Doc Chakwas you got exposed to some poison oak, she shouldn't ask any questions."

Garrus hiked up his leg plates, trying not to look anyone in the eye. "I'll just...head to the infirmary now..."

Garrus walked out of the lab, mumbling his thanks to Shepard for the suggestion about the lotion. Uriah couldn't help but think about how much Garrus' body language seemed like that of a spanked puppy. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. When the door slid shut again he turned his attention to the Salarian.

"You wanted to see me about something, Morin?"

"Yes, Commander. Noticed abnormal pupillary patterns lately. Increased number of time's blinking. Tendency to involuntarily protect throat by lowering chin. Increased depth of epidermal creases near eyes. Signs of lack of sleep or pronounced stress, must ask question..." Mordin brought his right hand up to rest under his chin, "When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

Shepard's eyes went from squinting to open to maximum possible width, "Come again?"

"Sexual release cathartic in humans, increased seratonin and endorphin output. Also, physical closeness provides for primitive safety in contact stimuli. Could act as control mechanism to regulate stress level."

Shepard pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, taking a few steps forward, eyes narrowed, "What's going on? Why are you asking me this question?"

Mordin started, hands coming up defensively, "Simply noticed stress level, did not mean to imply anything."

"Did Kelly put you up to this?" Shepard continued his approach, his tone and body language holding a subtle menace.

"Kelly? Ah, you mean Miss Chambers. Observations made have nothing to do with her. Human physiology makes problems obvious, not sure why prompting would be necessary. Why do you suspect Miss Chambers?"

"She's been acting mighty nice to me all of a sudden, ever since we debarked from Omega as a matter of fact. And you've been trying to get me to swing by too, kept saying you had something personal to discuss. And Doctor Chakwas for that matter...she's been insisting I come in for a physical."

Mordin swallowed uncomfortably, it had, indeed, been Kelly who had brought EDI's observational data to his attention. He was inadvertently impressed by EDI's attention to detail, her observations and conclusions seemed totally valid. It explained Shepard's recently more pronounced eccentricities. He had taken to only eating the same things over and over again, picking at the food and not finishing it, he was clearly sitting below the recommended calorie level for his body type and activity level. His hair had been displaying a rather pronounced "cow lick" that in the past he had always been careful to make sure was pressed down. The way he drummed out Morris code on his arm with his fingers when he crossed his arms had also stopped. Mordin hadn't even considered stress as the over-arching problem until he saw the EDI report.

Shepard's mind raced, had he found out about Aria? He couldn't let the remaining crew know about it, it was too compromising, if information like that got out people would draw their own conclusions and it would serve to undermine his authority. EDI hadn't even known why he had gone ashore that night; only Samara and the Illusive Man knew the details. He wondered how Mordin could have known.

"Look, Mordin..." Shepard lowered his voice, "whatever you know...keep it under your hat for the time being. Operational readiness dictates this can't get out...not yet anyway."

Solus blinked, "Of course commander, will maintain discretion."

Shepard nodded, "Thanks...now I have to go get ready, we're about to land at a secure facility on Palaven, be on your best behavior when we go ashore."

"Always on, best behavior, Commander."

"Carry on." Shepard exited through the door to the CIC. He had never seen much more than a picture of Palaven, a lush world of forests and seas...and above average levels of radiation. It was easy enough to treat, but other species were encourage to limit their exposure. Extranet documents described the mountain range they would be landing at as pristine and heavily wooded, full of indigenous wildlife and punctuated by stunning vistas.

"Commander, we are on final approach to the docking bay." Joker declared over the intercomm.

Shepard was about forty yards from the helm when the report came. He covered the distance quickly, wanting one look out the fore-ports before they landed.

"Right here, Joker."

"Commander, you should take a look, this place looks a lot like Earth...without as much sprawl and garbage that is."

Shepard leaned forward, looking down through the ports and almost felt his heart break. It looked so much like the forests he had seen as a boy at his maternal Grandfather's house near the Cumberland Gap.

"Its beautiful, Joker." Shepard declared, stifling tears.

"Commander, when we land, permission to go ashore?" Joker asked tentatively.

"Sure thing Joker...shouldn't pass this up."

"So where is this place anyway? The Illusive Man have a summer house on the Turian homeworld or something?" Jeff quipped.

"Apparently its one of the properties owned by Consul Malvus Kallarkan, former Turian general and a wealthy industrialist. Spends most of his time as part of the Turian Hierarchy, but his business interests are pretty huge they way I understand it."

EDI popped up, "Consul Kallarkan is number thirty eight of the fifty wealthiest Turians in Citadel space. His company specializes in urban development with subsidiaries that produce components for any of a number of products including most Biotic Amplifiers and Omnitools."

"Geez, guy sounds loaded...I wonder if he's got a daughter I could marry." Joker replied in his patent snark.

"That would likely prompt him to disown her, Jeff." EDI fired back.

Joker huffed, "EDI! You're supposed to be on my side!"

Shepard smirked, "She had too good a teacher, Joker."

"Yeah...now I know how the Quarians feel."

* * *

The docking bay was mammoth. Mass effect generators projected a flight path leading the Normandy into the bay on a cushion of effective weightlessness. The Villa was situated on top of the base and looked out over a pristine lake some two hundred meters further down on the slope. Shepard had donned his armor, it was a sign of respect to a Turian to greet them in uniform, and his duty uniform was not what defined him, it was the armor he wore as a soldier. The airlock depressurized and opened to an exposed gantry. Shepard strode forward, immediately spying his host. The Turian was well dressed, leaning heavily on a cane, flanking him on either side were sharply dressed aides. Uriah mentally ran over the vagaries of Turian etiquette, tempering the matters of rote with knowledge that Kallarkan had been a combat officer who had seen action against humans on Shanxi.

Shepard reached the older alien, extending a hand, "Consul Kallarkan, it is an honor to be accepted into your household, sir."

The Turian grasped the hand, holding it in his own, looked Shepard in the eyes, "So this is our last, best hope, the one that will fight off the coming darkness. Spirits, you're so young. When they informed me you would be coming, I hardly knew if I could believe it or not. I was starting to give up hope, but now..."

"Hope is the one thing we can't ever let go of, sir." Shepard replied.

The Turian was overcome with emotion. To think he would hedge all his hopes on a human was...well for a Turian it was unheard of. This species he had fought with such vigor on Shanxi and had fought back with equal vigor and indignation. This species that he had come to grudgingly respect and eventually admire. It was their stubborn determination that had so impressed him, he couldn't help but feel a kindred bond with them he couldn't feel towards the Asari or Salarians. When the fledgling Cerberus had approached him a decade before, they were still an unknown. Their front of pro-human splinter politics was distasteful, but he had grasped that they filled a niche that humans needed, and in order for the humans to be a strong ally, they had to have a strong identity of who they were.

The elder Turian gave the hand a firm squeeze, "True enough. But where are my manners, I welcome you to my home...well...one of my homes. This is where I come when I want to escape all the noise and chaos."

"It is a beautiful locale, sir." Shepard replied.

"I'm sure you have much to inform us of, please, come inside, my home is yours." The Turian turned, leading the way, leaning heavily on the cane.

"I was not aware that we would be discussing this with others, sir."

"Your report made an impression on many of us, Shepard. Some of us still remember the old ideal behind duty, if what you said was true...and I believe it is...then it is our duty as Turians to stand with those who will stand against the Reapers. Some of my colleagues will be joining us to review the information you are presenting, a concrete understanding of the gravity of the threat will allow our political front to push through the resolutions we have proposed to deal with the menace."

Shepard looked concerned, "Consul, sir, to what extent have they been made aware of my status and current...affiliation?"

Kallarkan twitched his mandibles, "I surmise the shock of seeing you alive will likely carry them past any doubts about your Cerberus affiliation."

"And how do you feel about Cerberus, sir?"

"A sad necessity." The Turian stopped, turning to face Uriah, "Don't be surprised, Commander, every race has an organization roughly analogous to your Cerberus. The only difference is, we chose to sanction it behind closed doors and deny their existence, yours seems to be the only race so high-handed as to acknowledge its existence and condemn it."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but that still doesn't exactly tell me how you feel about it."

The Turian smiled the knowing smile of age, "Commander, Cerberus approached me as an ally over a decade ago, our relationship has been, at times, strained since then, but when it came down to it, we considered one another allies with the same agenda."

"You want to see humanity strong or dominant?" Shepard was flabbergasted.

"I'm from the old school, Shepard. A militarist doesn't like weak allies. If you have to carry your allies, they might as well be client states. Humanity is to proud and independent to ever be a client race of the Turians, a war to establish our dominance over you would cost so many lives there would hardly be a human or Turian race left and we'd be snapped up whole-sale by some other race." the Turian chuckled as if remembering something, "The harder humanity strives for dominance, the less pliable they are to blind idealism. The day may come where the Citadel has to be restructured, when that happens human and Turian kind will be central, better that we respect each other's strengths."

Shepard was shocked, the seemingly benign old Turian had as ruthless a streak as the Illusive Man, but there was a strange logic to it. It was true, the Asari had a pedantic side that grated, the Salarians at time operated so much in the world of data that they couldn't see the forest for the trees. While the idea of a coup d'etat against the Citadel seemed reprehensible to him, if the council could not be made to see the truth of the Reaper menace, it might be necessary for the sakes of all life, including that of the Asari and Salarians. He was beginning to see what the Illusive Man and Kallarkan saw in each other.

"I've never been much of one for politics, sir. Just point me where you need the fire placed and I'll shoot."

Kallarkan laughed, "Spoken like a true soldier, Shepard. Don't get ambitious, just do your duty and do it right. Reminds me of me when I was your age."

* * *

"Did father say what he wanted, Gavurn?"

Consul Seturius turned to his wife, "Just something about coming to the lodge as soon as possible."

Her mandibles twitched, lowering her head looking at the hands she was wringing in her lap, "I hope...I hope something isn't wrong. How did he sound?"

"Excited, adamant, like it was of critical importance."

"Do you think it might be about...the miscarriage?" she looked at him, her eyes large and pleading.

The X3M soared over the shore of the lake, the lodge approaching from the distance, pristine water below reflecting the sun and a ripple-distorted image of the aircar.

"I haven't told him..."

"You said you would, you said you wouldn't make me tell him!" she cried.

"I wanted to...I was going to today, but then he said...he said he wanted grandchildren he could spoil before it was too late for him, and I...I just couldn't tell him."

She took a sobbing breath.

Gavurn reached over, placing a hand on top of hers. "I'll be alright...I promise."

She affected a weak smile. Gavurn looked her in the eyes, taking his hand from hers to stroke her right mandible tenderly. They held the gaze a moment.

"Gavurn, watch your flying." she chided softly.

His right mandible twitched amusement and he returned his eyes forward.

"What the...?" Seturius growled.

"What is it?"

He pointed at the docking bay under the villa, "That frigate...what is it doing here?"

The aircar shot past the lodge-side shore and began climbing for the docking bay, he slowed the vehicle, eyeing the ship. No registry markings were visible, the lines and drive systems appeared Systems Alliance in make. He pulled the aircar into the ferrocrete floored sub-garage.

"Gavurn?"

"Wait in the car, something isn't right."

"No, I'm coming with you." she insisted.

"Alright, but stay close."

Seturius took his wife's hand, reaching into his jacket and producing an M-3 side-arm. He walked slowly, almost creeped towards the main hanger, eyeing the ship carefully. Stepping through the opening he suddenly saw an identification marking on the ship's nose.

"Cerberus..."

He turned to his wife, "Get back to the car...now! I have to find your father and get him out of here."

"Gavurn, what is it? What's wrong?" she replied in muted panic.

"Cerberus...its Cerberus, a human terrorist organization. Your father is in danger."

He darted his eyes back to the ship, three beings exited the ship; A scarred human in modified heavy armor, a Krogan, and another dark complexioned human. They took a few steps down the gantry then turned, seeing them.

"They've seen us! Run!" he let go of his wife's hand, tightening his grip on the pistol for a long range shot. The three targets on the gantry didn't move, why weren't they pulling weapons?

"Gavurn!"

Behind him, Seturius' wife cried out. He turned to see her frozen in fear in front of a human woman with long dark hair, clad in a black jumpsuit. He spun, bringing the pistol up to bear on the new target. A hand clamped down on the pistol, wrenching it away, he turned to stare into the scarred face of another Turian.

"I'll just take that before someone gets hurt." Garrus declared flatly.

"Gavurn, what are you doing? These are my guests!"

Seturius spun on his heels again, seeing his father-in-law standing on the dock's main walkway, to his right a tall human in armor. He stopped at the human's face, his mandibles opening wide in shock.

"...Shepard...?"

His wife ran over to him, he wrapped an arm around her, she was hyperventilating.

"Who is it?" she sobbed.

"The man I was apparently called here to see."

* * *

Seturius blinked as the lights came back up and the holo-footage faded. What he saw...he felt like he wanted to vomit. Everything Shepard had said was true...what was more, it was worse than even Shepard had initially believed. The thought of all those innocent lives...what had been done to them. He tightened his fingers into a fist, feeling the trimmed back talons biting into his flesh. How could the Citadel council be so foolish as to ignore the truth?

To Gavurn's left Consul Aurelius spoke, "I think I want to throw up."

There was grumbled ascent from several of the others.

Kallarkan stood, taking burdened steps to where Shepard stood in front of the room, "There you have it...there is no room for academic debate now, we in this room know beyond a shadow of a doubt, the Reapers are real...and they mean to do this to every race."

"We have to take this to the Senax floor, we have to alert the populace." Consul Malaccus thundered.

"The fleet must be scrambled, we have to send every available ship to the traverse to stop any advance." It was Consul Gurrtalius' turn to stand, his voice fiery with resolve.

"If we reveal this footage on the Citadel, there is no way the council can deny it!" Consul Septurian rumbled.

"Nallurian must be recalled! His inaction allowed this to occur! His insistence that there was no evidence of the existence of the Reapers allowed this genocide!" this from Consul, and former General, Bellicosus

The assembled Consuls began shouting, each calling for action, declaring was must be done. Kallarkan lowered his head, the tempo of the room raising to a fever-pitch.

"They'll do it to us...they'll do it to us all!"

"If we have any hope of survival we have to form a joint military command!"

"The Shepard Report must go to every level of command up the chain."

"The citizenry must be armed and prepared!"

Seturius stood, trying to invoke some sense of calm, "Consuls, please!"

"How many ships can we have deployed by the end of the week?"

"We have to press every possible weapon into use!"

Gavurn pleaded, "Consuls, please..."

A piercing Krogan battle roar shook the room. All voices stopped, the Consuls staring at the front of the room in surprise. Grunt held the roar an additional few seconds then, satisfied he had ensured silence turned to Shepard. "Battlemaster..."

Grunt's method of yielding the floor was a bit deliberate, using the opportunity to make one small blow for his race in the den of the 'enemy'.

Shepard took a step forward to stand next to Kallarkan, "Consuls, we have to be intelligent about this. If we exposed this on the Citadel it would cause a panic."

"It should!" Septurian cried.

Shepard shook his head, "If we cause a panic, the population of Citadel space will turn on the council. If that happens all aspects of centralized power will fail. Races will rush to establish their own lines of defense without ensuring there is a unified plan in place. Worlds will fall into chaos as civilian populations try to flee or riot against their governments out of fear."

Bellicosus nodded, grunting, "Shepard is right."

Uriah continued, "We can't sacrifice on readiness, but if we look at a generalized panic, the militaries of all the Citadel races will be to tied up trying to keep civic order to mount an effective strategy for defense. This is the moment when we, as sentients, have to rely on our greatest strength...the ability to look cold unyielding terror in the eye and not blink. We need strength and unity."

Seturius stepped forward, turning to face his other Consuls, "Shepard speaks the unvarnished truth, we have to remain strong and unyielding, but we can't become so consumed with fiery indignation that we end up destroying the thing we most want to preserve. We have to use our heads, we have to make the others see the truth the way we do and form a single, unmovable united front!"

"Here here!" several of the Consuls cried.

Kallarkan turned to face Shepard. "Commander, we have much to do, we must beg your leave to being making preparations for the Senax tomorrow where we will call for another vote. The hospitality of my house is yours, but I must ask your leave for the evening."

Shepard nodded, "I understand Consul, I'll be sure that my crew doesn't disturb you or your fellow Consuls."

"The radiation of our world is higher than what you are likely accustomed too, it is nothing that you cannot treat easily, but it can sometimes cause discomfort among non-Turians, however, in the evening and night, the levels drop significantly. Feel free to wander the preserve if you desire, I find it most calming, especially in times of trouble like this."

Shepard grinned, "I had hoped I would be able to do so, sir."

* * *

Shepard spread his arms wide, rolling his shoulders, taking in a deep breath of unfiltered, unsullied air. The smell of untold bounties of plant life wafting in, sweet earthy smells tinged with the fragrant spiciness of wild grain-yielding grasses, the subtle crispness of the lake below. He took a few steps, savoring the feel of grass yielding under his boot. The breeze rustled leaves in the dense forest a half kilometer away, the subtle hiss dancing in his ears.

A hand brushed his, fingertips to fingertips. He turned his head meeting Samara's delphian gaze. Her eyes twinkled, a mischievous smile on her face. She turned on her heal, a spring in her step, and they both began to run. Through the meadow they danced, the sound of the grass whipping past his armored shins broken only by the sound of the breeze in the trees and the nymph laugh of Samara. He sucked in lung-fulls of air, each more greedily trying to savor the air than the previous. He leaped over stones and a fallen log, his heart pounding out of exhilaration more than physical strain. The meadow gave way to trees, filtering the dying light of a setting sun. Light and shadow danced as the sweet breeze, carrying the subtle scents of ancient rock set the leaves swaying. They leapt and bounded over stones, trees, and the scrub that stubbornly grew under the canopy. The pungent scent of the forest floor swirled around them, the damp musty smell of fresh earth along with the sour-sweet smell of decaying flora.

Samara stopped, a massive Orchid-like plant between her and Shepard, phosphorescent insects making lazy orbits around it's fist sized mauve buds. She met Uriah's eyes with her own, taking a few deep breaths. They circled the plant, never letting their eyes part for even the briefest of moments. Uriah leaned in, still watching the Asari carefully, breathing deep the scent of the flower, then dashed away, heading deeper into the woods. Samara laughed and followed. They ran for what, felt like forever, finally coming to a large clearing dominated by a single squat old-growth tree as the purple hues of sunset pressed oppressively against the horizon. Uriah slowed, head tilting back to take in the entirety of the surroundings. Waves of golden green grass rippled under the breeze, hissing sharply in contrast to the gentle call of the leaves. Samara dashed out ahead, reaching the tree ahead of Uriah, who pursued, and, pirouetting, fell into the grass.

Shepard fell next to her, face first, turning his head to the left to look at her. She turned her head left in turn, meeting his gaze.

Uriah placed his right elbow on the ground, raising his torso, and with his left hand reached out, tracing a gloved finger across the side of Samara's head, down the fleshy tendrils growing from her scalp. Samara closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the touch, enjoying the feeling of genuine tenderness. After a few moments, Shepard rolled to his back and sat up, sighing deeply as he did.

"This place...it is so beautiful."

"I feel at peace here." Samara agreed.

"It reminds me so much of Kentucky..."

Samara rolled to her side, propping her head up on her left arm, reaching out and touching the armored arm of Shepard with her right. "Is that your home?"

"I don't know. It is where my mother is from. My grandfather built a home up in the Cumberland Gap, on the border with Tennessee. I visited there when I was young. I was born in space...I'd like to think I could call it home."

"Tell me about it."

Shepard took another deep breath, let it out, "Grandpa was from the old hillfolk stock. They had pretty much lived the same way for four hundred years. They lived off the land, made their own way. When he was a young man he made his way with business, became a successful man. Mama didn't know the hills, only the city. When he retired, he moved back to the land."

Shepard picked up an errant leaf that had fallen from the old tree behind them, rolling the stem between his index finger and thumb, "When I was twelve, Mama and Dad had overlapping returns, both their ships put into port at the same time. They didn't get to see each other much, so they want off to Taipei to spend some time together, just husband and wife...the honeymoon they never got to have. I spent those days with Grandpa and Grandma Carter."

Shepard smiled, his eyes staring off into space remembering. "Grandpa took me hunting, my first time to hold a gun. We sat in the scrub for hours, it was a nice day, just a little cloudy and warm with a slight chill on the breeze. We ate home-made jerky and he pointed out all the birds to me. It was just after noon when we saw the buck, he still had fuzz on his antlers. Grandpa told me how to line up the shot, how to breath slow and aim just above his front shoulder..."

Shepard paused, remembering it all vividly, his voice cracked slightly, "I couldn't take the shot. He just kept saying 'you've got it Uriah, just squeeze the trigger' and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to kill it, you know? He didn't take the shot either, just sat there waiting on me, finally the buck ran off. I couldn't move for a long time, I felt so ashamed, like I'd let him down. I thought he would be mad at me but he just said, its okay, hardest thing for a man to do is take another critter's life."

Shepard sniffled, wiped an errant tear away with the back of his hand.

"We left our spot right after that. We drove into the little town a few miles up the road and he bought us both an orange soda and we sat on the back of his truck drinking it. Some old man passing asked if we'd bagged anything and Grandpa just said;" Shepard changed his voice to mimic this Grandfather's words, "We didn't see ner'y a thing."

Samara sat up, leaning into Uriah, wrapping her left arm around him and pulling him close.

"Didn't get to see that place again until seven years later. I'd just finished basic at Paris Island, and I swung by. I stayed a few hours, talking with Grandma and Grandpa, and before I left Grandpa gave me a hug, shook my hand, then looked me right in the eye and said, 'Uriah, hardest thing for a man to do is take another critter's life' and that was it."

Shepard turned his head, to look at Samara's face, "Kind of ironic, huh?"

Samara reached up with her right hand, placing her fingers along the left edge of his jaw and gently guided his lips to hers.

**[! Author's Note !]: CAWK BLAWKED! Sorry, no lurid Shep/Samara sechesing yet. Just hang in there, it will be worth it.**


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda paced her office, nobody had seen Shepard in three hours, he had also not deemed to contact EDI or anyone on the ship during that time. She had twice asked EDI to give her his current location, both times she had declared that he was four kilometers away from the ship but had neglected to mention direction. The third time she inquired about his life signs to which EDI had replied "nominal" and nothing further. She had typed and sent a report to the Illusive Man outlining her growing concern over the efficacy of EDI and her lack of compliance in anticipating the needs of herself as the Operations lead for the Lazarus Cell.

Jack barged into the office, "Well?"

"You could have knocked." Miranda snapped.

"Like anyone can hear a knock through these bulkheads!"

"Its just polite."

"Look who you're talking to, princess."

Miranda said nothing.

"Well? Are you just going to leave me hanging?"

"I don't know where he is, EDI just keeps saying he's four bloody kilometers away and that his life signs are nominal." Miranda fumed.

Jack rolled her eyes, "Cause you're not asking the right questions, watch and learn."

Jack turned to the holoprojector, as if she had to face EDI to speak to the AI, "EDI..."

The AI's digital representation emerged from the projector, "Yes, Jack?"

"Are there any other life signs in proximity to Shepard?"

"There are one hundred thirty two life signs within two hundred fifty meters of the Commander."

Twenty question, okay, she could do that, she had plenty of experience playing that game...mostly with law enforcement, but it couldn't be to different if she was on the asking end.

"How many of those belong to people?"

"Please narrow the parameter."

Jack sneered, "How many belong to sapient life forms." she looked over at Miranda, "Bet you thought I didn't know that word, huh?"

"There is currently one sapient life form within two hundred fifty meters of the Commander."

Jack crossed her arms, "And that's all you are going to tell me?"

"That is all you asked." EDI snapped back.

"Bitch! Okay...is the life sign a member of the crew?"

"Please narrow the parameter."

"Does the life sign belong to someone on this ship?"

"No being currently on this ship can be within a proximity of two hundred fifty meters of the Commander."

Jack fumed, "I am going to fucking rip your processors out!"

Miranda interjected, "EDI, does the life sign belong to a member of the Normandy's regular or special operations team contingent?"

"The life sign does belong to a member of the latter."

"Is the life sign female?"

"Not in a manner that conforms to base-line mammalian evolutionary development."

Jack bit her lip, knitting her brows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Miranda had to think about it for less than a second, "EDI, how close to Commander Shepard is Justicar Samara?"

"Zero point one three meters." the AI droned.

"Thank you, EDI." was Miranda's lilting reply.

The AI closed without the usual platitudes, almost as if it was angry.

Miranda speared Jack with her glare, "Wouldn't know what to do with a dick if she sat on it, eh?"

Jack crossed her arms, scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor, "Maybe they're...talking?"

"Pre or post coitus?"

* * *

Uriah opened his eyes, the subtle flashing of his omnitool had gotten his attention through closed lids. To his right, Samara still lay asleep, nestled close to him her right hand on the armor plate of his chest armor. It took him a moment to remember what they had done. They had shared some moments of tenderness, moments of intimacy, but beyond the gentle caresses of their finger tips and lips, they had done nothing else. He opened the Omnitool.

"Commander..." EDI's flat tones.

"Yes EDI?" he responded.

"Miss Lawson is trying to locate you. I have endeavored to put her off, but I could only remain evasive for so long."

"Does she need to speak with me?" Uriah eased his right arm from around Samara who opened her eyes in response to his shifting.

"Not regarding anything of importance Commander, she is just being a codependent weenie."

EDI was using some very colorful descriptions lately, it was amusing. Codependent weenie...it sounded like something an wise-beyond-his or her-years teenager would say.

"Is that was Jeff called her?" Shepard couldn't suppress the grin.

"No, I found the term while browsing the extranet trying to find human analogous descriptions for the personalities of the crew."

Samara sat up, leaning on her left arm she reached out and stroked Uriah's face with her right.

EDI continued, "Given her tendencies to seek control of individuals around her while at the same time seeking to integrate as part of their immediate social circle and her rather constant use of emotional blackmail, I deduced she fit the category of a codependent weenie."

Shepard leaned forward, kissing Samara softly, she reciprocated.

EDI paused, "Should I leave you alone for the time being, commander?"

Uriah turned his head back to the Omnitool interface, "No, no...sorry EDI."

"You have nothing to apologize about Commander, it was I who interrupted you. I could inform Miss Lawson that you are currently in the throws of passion which would likely deter any further obsessive behavior on her part."

Samara arched her brows at Shepard, he shrugged. She turned her head away, a bemused expression on her face.

"No, I'm going to say that would not be the best course of action, EDI. We should probably be on our way back...what time is it?"

"Current time is twenty thirty eight hours global time, seventeen twenty one hours zulu."

"Thanks EDI, we're going to start making our way back."

Shepard stood, stretching, then reached down to help Samara to her feet, she took a few steps away, looking down the gradual slope of the knoll to the stream an eighth of a mile away. Night had fallen on the planet, the sky was a deep violet, countless stars and a pair of moons painting the velvety curtain of night with millions of points of light. The night held an unusual warmth, the slight breeze had picked up in strength, occasionally gusting and carrying a mild chill. The sweet night smell carried hints of heady flower fragrances and a subtle humidity.

"Well, Uriah...why didn't you take EDI's suggestion...make love to me here in the meadow?"

Shepard narrowed his eyes, the left corner of his mouth darting upward slightly, "Would it really have been that easy?"

She turned back, "What if I say yes? What if I tell you that you could have taken me right here, under the stars in the grass?"

"I would say you're testing me to see how I respond. I'd say you're not going to make it easy and cheapen it, I'd say you're going to make me prove I'm worth it."

Samara cocked her head back, arching her brows, a smile touching her lips, "Perhaps I should have made love to you right here...you seem to know me better than I had thought you did, Shepard."

Uriah folded his arms, mentally quelling his giddy emotions, not so much trying to seem aloof or cool, but rather, how he felt he should behave as a man. It was his belief that nothing freely given is worth a fraction as much as something you had to strive for. That is what had driven him through Recon, SERE, Mountain Training, Airborne, Ranger school, and finally to N7. Striving to take the hard path is what he believed had defined him as a human...but what was it that made him a man? What did it mean to be a man, not just as a member of a sex and species, but to adhere to the old human ideal; a being of worth and integrity? He found he had no adequate reference. In his life everyone he had considered a "real man" had somehow been abstracted. He didn't anymore understand their motivations than he understood his need to prove his worth.

"So, how am I going to have to prove myself? I'm at a bit of a disadvantage already, I'd hate to disappoint your expectations."

"I'll let you know when the time comes, as for now though, I won't let my desire color my expectations. I am not going to be easy for you, Shepard. You have to earn me."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." He was quickly developing a case of vasocongestion for the history books.

Samara turned again, her movements lithe, the moon silhouetting her body. The way she moved, the way she looked at him, she was more maddeningly enticing clothed than any blatantly eroticized being he had ever experienced.

She looked over her shoulder. "You would wait for me, fight to earn me, even when there are those who have no precondition?"

"How many ways do I need to say it? Yes." He almost sounded glib, trying not to think about the ache in his groin and knowing there would be no immediate remedy.

She stepped in aggressively, his right arm shot around her waist, pulling her close as they flayed each other's lips. They tasted each other's mouths in a frenzied almost animal way. Shepard could feel his sex stiffening even more, aching to penetrate her. He had to fight hard to quell the desire to begin pulling off her armor. His hand went to her side, caressing the elegant depression of taught sinew under her armor. Her tongue invaded his mouth, her hands grasping his head, running fingers through his hair. It was maddening, engorged phallus fighting to be freed of restrictive armor plating, his head spinning, skin tingling, hair beginning to stand on in. His stomach burned, his lungs heaved, lights exploded before his eyes...it was like concussive trauma...and he didn't want it to end.

Samara felt and explosion of sensations, it was like nothing she had experienced before in her long life. She had engaged with multiple species during her maiden centuries, but nothing quite matched the pure physical enjoyment she was experiencing with this human. She felt a growing sense of unrestrained bliss. Parts of her body she had not thought about in centuries ached to be touched and fondled, she wished his hands would wander more, cup and grope more of her. Her restraint was melting before wave after successive wave of heat. She was ready to surrender, let him have her in ways she hadn't even considered before. If he didn't make the move soon, she felt it was likely that she would take him. Force him to the ground, pulling away armor and clothes and enjoy the pure physicality of human sex. All her declarations about having to earn her would fly right out the airlock...and she didn't care, she was awash in maiden desire all over again.

When he gently but firmly pushed her away she almost wanted to knock his hands away and pounce.

Uriah spoke first, "We'd better get back."

She eyed him predatorily.

"Samara...we'd better head back." his face was flushed.

The corner of her upper lip curled back, showing teeth, her chest heaving.

"Samara...I mean it...if we don't head back now there is no amount of biotic power you could use that will keep me off of you."

Samara shot forward, dodging around behind him, giving him a firm slap on the backside and took off across the meadow and towards the woods they had traversed earlier...Shepard was hot on her heals.

The forest was dark now, the canopy filtering most of the star and moonlight out. There was a sense of danger, that age old fear of the dark. Night creatures called out, the gentle breeze from earlier now gusted, whistling through the woods. Shepard felt the thrill of danger, the subtle fear, it compounded the excitement he was already experiencing. Ahead of him Samara laughed, he suddenly realized he was in effect hunting her. His predatory instincts had always been a source of tension in the past. Hunting meant harassment and interdiction of the enemy...that was life and death; serious as a heart attack. This was a different kind of hunting, it was the thrill of being alive, two beings irreversibly intertwined in one another's fate. He growled, the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Concerns, better judgment, worry; they all disappeared and for a moment he felt invincible.

Samara turned back to see where Shepard was, she laughed like she was barely over a century old again. She heard his quick foot falls, boots crushing leaves and branches, but didn't see him. She turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of him, trying to follow the source of the sound. The sound came from above somewhere close by...behind her. She turned to see Shepard bounding across a rock ledge overhead. His sure-footedness was amazing as he scaled the ledge then leapt clear of the outcropping, landing in front of her. He straightened, eyes twinkling fixed on hers. He stalked towards her slowly. Samara couldn't help but back away. She was scared, something about him in this moment was terrifying and so horribly alluring. Shepard the predator could ravage her at will, destroy her...and part of her found that she wanted to be. It felt like the raw distilled essence of excitement. It felt like the physical exhilaration of jumping off a cliff into an ocean below. It felt like the wordless passions of an exotic stranger. It felt like youth.

* * *

Joker hooted as Zaeed dove, hitting Crewman Peterson, knocking him flat to the ground. It was a good tackle. The short grassed meadow bordering the lodge was acting as an impromptu field, the mess of humanity running about, charging and tackling one another was lit by portable lighting from the Normandy's cargo hold. Cries of "fumble" rang out as Jacob dove on the loose ball. Several other crewmen dove in towards the ball, the pile eventually being broken up as Grunt bodily sorted through the dog-pile. Jacob came up, holding the ball high over his head; Kasumi squeeled, Kelly cheered, Cookie Gardner clapped his hands shouting encouragement. Half the people present were supposed to be on duty, but something in the air just forced the breach in protocol. If Miranda hadn't been in 'hiding' since her trouncing at the hands of the Commander, she would likely be threatening anyone in dereliction at gunpoint to return to their stations or else. Shepard had more-or-less extended de facto liberty to the crew. His exact words had been, "Check in with your stations, make sure the ship isn't falling apart, then feel free to have some down time." It just helped typify the differences in command style between Cer-bitch-us and Shepard.

Cole had paraded through the ship with his ball and crew, picking up players as he went, the excitement had been palpable, it was going to be a real game, a taste of home on a world that seemed, in a lot of ways, like Earth. The teams appeared lopsided; it was a classic game of shirts versus skins. Shirts consisted of roughly half the male crew, the skins were Richard Cole, Jacob, Zaeed, Jose Rincon one of Cole's door gunners, and Grunt. The inclusion of Grunt had made the teams "even." Joker forgot how long it had been since he watched one of these ad-hoc games, he felt a distinct melancholy as he remembered the old Normandy crew, part of him wished he had more bitter-sweet memories like this of the old contingent of the original boat. Zaeed chest-bumped Jacob, "Now 'at's th'style my lad!"

Jacob double fist pumped, "Yeah!"

EDI popped up on Joker's Omnitool, "So, who is winning, Jeff?"

"I don't care, its just fun to watch. Where's Shepard, I figured he'd be playing too."

EDI was silent a second, "The Commander is enjoying the sights and sounds of Palaven."

"You know, you can just say 'he's getting laid' EDI...I won't hold it against him."

"I am noticing a decided discrepancy in team balance." EDI commented.

"Yeah well, the didn't make up the rules with Krogan in mind."

"I am surprised they are not playing him at center." the AI replied blandly.

Joker shrugged, "Cole knows what he's doing, he was a jock in High School or something."

Cole snapped the ball, drew back as if going for a pass to Zaeed who had dumped his defender and was charging down the field. The Batexan spun past a shirt looking for an easy sack dashing away and pitching the ball to Grunt who proceeded to barrel down the field. Defenders converged quickly on the comparatively slow Krogan; Crewman Sanders, Oliver, and de la Croix hit Grunt, and after a half-step back, were being dragged and pushed along by the inexorable force that was the perfect Krogan. Four crewmen later they had finally dropped the Krogan keeping the yardage gain to only a modest forty two. The skins set up for their next play, Grunt setting up on the right side of the offensive line, Zaeed snapped the ball to Cole who dropped back, handing it off to Rincon who pulled in behind the Krogan as he began bull rushing down the field.

Cole's crew chief, Andrew Stybeck charged for the pair or skins rushing the end zone only to be very forcefully shouldered aside by Grunt. Rincon slipped around from behind the hulk screening for him and goose stepped to a touchdown. Cole shouted in a squeaky faux-falsetto, "Aaaannddy, ya bawhdy ain't an amusement paaahhwwk!"

The New Jersey native rose, brushing himself off, "C'mon, fahget about'it, Ma'ah."

Rincon did a little end-zone dance to the dismissive gestures of the shirt team. Gardner clapped enthusiastically, "Now that's how to hustle!"

Grunt trotted over to the sideline, grabbing a bottle of water and drinking down the contents in a few gulps. Cole and Jacob came up on either side of the Krogan. The Batexan slapped hands onto the mass of power's shoulders, "The fridge!" he shouted.

Grunt curled his lips back in a Krogan smile, "I like this game. Okeer never imprinted this...but he should have. All Krogan should know this sport, its a contest of warriors. I'm beginning to respect humans."

Joker felt footsteps close by and turned to his right to see Doctor Chakwas approach and sit down. "Who's winning?"

Joker shrugged, "I think skins."

Chakwas stood back up, shouting, "Come on shirts! Knock their bloody blocks off!"

Kasumi and Kelly booed prompting Chakwas to give the two-fingered salute, she then set back down, taking a drink from a liquor bottle she had brought with her, then passing it his way. Joker remained tight lipped, letting his eyebrows do the talking, staring very obviously at the Doctor. She turned her face to Joker, "Oh what...don't tell me you thought I was always this age, I was young once too, Jeff."

Joker was about to reply with something snide when he noticed movement at the edge of the woods about four hundred meters away. He recognized the helmetless form of the Commander immediately, his companion was equally discernable. The Justicar took a few steps from the woods then turned, pushing Shepard against a tree and pressing into him. He wrestled her around to put her back to the tree, she slipped away, spun on her heals and rammed her body into his, grinding against him as she did, her left leg rubbing deliberately against him. They grappled like lovers, frantically, heated...faces together giving the appearance that their lips were locked in a wrestling match of their own.

"Uhhhh Doc...are you seeing this?"

"Yes, the shirts are getting run ragged." she replied.

"Not what I was talking about Doc. Looks like Shepard and Samara are sucking face under the bleachers."

Chakwas turned her face to follow Joker's eyes.

She squinted, trying to figure out what it was, then her eyes widened. "The Commander definitely likes them older, eh Jeff?"

"Holy shit, look at them go at it."

"If I had known he was into older women, I'd have put on the charm back on the old Normandy." Chakwas half-joked.

Joker swallowed hard, "Do you think they already...you know..."

Chakwas shook her head, "If they had I don't think they would be going at it with quite that intensity now."

"Oh my God," Joker giggled, "we should be recording this!"

"He certainly doesn't like to do anything half-way does he? Our Commander just can't settle for being anything less than the best at everything." the doctor replied sardonically.

Kelly Chambers suddenly loomed over the two, squatting down to look them both in the face. Her expression was painfully serious, stern in a way Joker had never seen before, he wasn't sure if it was an act. There was always a girl like her in school, the wallflower who felt that nobody should take voyeuristic interest in the relationships of others. "Neither of you saw this...got it?"

"Uh, yeah we did Kelly, I mean look at that...that's hot!" Joker insisted.

Kelly glared at him, mouth pursed to a stern line. She pointed at his crotch, then made a wrenching gesture with her hand, Joker instinctively winced at the thought.

Chakwas caught on immediately, "No, Jeff, we didn't."

EDI chimed in, "It is dark and the lighting as it illuminates the tree-line makes positive identification of persons and their activities impossible."

Joker took the hint, realized that the writing was on the wall. The Commander needed this, needed someone he could turn to as everyone else on the ship, and in a round-about way the galaxy as a whole, turned to him.

Joker played along, "Oooh yeah...right. I can't even tell who those people are...as a matter of fact, aren't those bears?"

"Thank you." Kelly replied sing-songy as she rose and walked back to where she had been sitting next to Kasumi. The thief looked over to Chakwas and Joker, drawing her finger across throat from left to right in the mock cutting action, tongue lolling from her mouth comically, and thus a little conspiracy was born.

* * *

Shepard's alarm clock beeped its obnoxious rhythm. He reached over, switching it off, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. After they had been able to peel themselves off one another, Samara had returned to her quarters and Shepard had joined the football game; the crew had not pulled punches. He was sore, but it felt good to cut loose. The game had sufficiently distracted him from his romp with Samara that he had not needed to seek manual release from what had to be a truly legendary case of blue balls.

"EDI...time." he croaked.

"Zero five fifteen zulu."

"Local time?"

"Zero four thirty two."

"That's right...this planet's days are longer than 24 hours."

Shepard sat up, "Has Consul Kallarkan contacted me?"

"The Consul contacted Miss Chambers to have her update your schedule for the meeting. It appears that it will begin thirty minutes later than originally scheduled."

"Does that mean I can go back to sleep?" Shepard fell back, splaying his arms.

"No."

"Crap."

"There are a number of issues that require your attention: Cerberus Command has sent missions updates, Miss Chambers has requested to speak with you regarding crew morale, you have an exercise session planned for the morning, and you should see Doctor Chakwas about that bruise on your right shoulder blade."

"We can cancel the work out...I got plenty of exercise yesterday."

"With Justicar Samara or during the football game?"

Shepard bolted back upright. "Yeah, about that...I will give you so much money if you don't tell anyone about the episode with Samara."

"Shepard, I have no need for fiscal assets."

"There's always the degaussing loop I mentioned before."

"Do you regret your course of action?"

"What kind of question is that to ask, EDI?" Shepard scratched his scalp.

"Is that to say that you do not feel any regrets about your intimacy with the Justicar?"

"I'm not sure why I should be talking about this to you, but, no, I don't regret a bit of it, I'd do it again in a second." He yawned.

"Good." the AI almost sounded pleased, then disappeared.

**[! Author's Note !] Yeah...I kind of got lost with what I wanted to do with this chapter...after about six major rewrites over the course of three hours I decided to just go with this. Sorry.**


	8. Chapter 8

Consul Veckus twitched his mandibles uncomfortably. Twelve of the Reaperist consuls had not even bothered to show up to the morning session of the Senax, those that had offered no explanation of their colleagues' abscence nor had they brought any issues to the floor, if this was their way of rolling over and dying, then good riddance. After breaking from the morning session he had received a message from Consul Kallarkan, he had asked quite politely for Veckus to join him at his lodge in the Garrack mountains. He would undoubtedly miss the afternoon session, but with no business slated to be brought to the floor that he could not have his political lackeys take care of, he saw no harm in accepting the invitation. Maybe the old gizzard stone had finally decided to make peace, give up all the Reaper nonsense.

When Veckus had accepted, Kallarkan dispatched a driver, even know they were soaring over Lake Contasion, the massive villa looming in the distance. From the angle of approach Veckus could see the colossal docking bay beneath the equally impressively large house. Kallarkan had done much better for himself as an industrialist than he had initially been led to believe. Veckus fantasized of a mansion of his own one day. Once he was made the Turian Councilor to the Citadel he would be able to convert the influence his position would entail to currency. He had no desire to remain Councilor for life, he'd devote ten years to the job, then step down and give another ambitious young Turian a chance at the position. Once he stepped down, it would be comfortable retirement and maybe a dozen such lodges. One on Thesia, another on Illium, and perhaps even one on Earth, just to rub it in the faces of those cocky humans.

There were several other aircars already parked in front of the lodge, but he thought nothing of it as they landed. Veckus strode to the door purposefully, Kallarkan would get no concession from him, if the doddering old fool expected him to compromise just because of a pleasantly worded invitation, he truly had gone senile. A servant opened the door for him, then guided him through the foyer into a large sitting room with a panoramic view of where the Murrulial river wove down the mountains into Lake Contasion. He stopped dead in his tracks, seven Reaperist Councils sat in the room amid stacks of data slates and paused holographic feeds.

"What is this?" Veckus hissed.

From behind him Kallarkan spoke, "It is a chance for you to reverse your stance before it is too late."

Veckus spun, mandibles wide with furry, "Kallarkan, what manner of idiocy is..."

Veckus stopped in mid sentence, his eyes focusing on the being standing behind Kallarkan. He took a staggering step backwards. "No...you're dead...the council declared you dead. They discredited you...they buried all your efforts with you and put up a statue to hide their mistake, making you a Spectre."

"When I got to the other side, they told me they'd burned the report, so I had to come back to make sure that everyone didn't pay for the oversight." Uriah quipped.

"So this is your trick? You think you can scare me with dead Spectres and make me tote your line? You are senile Kallarkan, and I will see to it that you and all your lackeys are laughed out of the Senax. I will ruin you and every last one of them. And when I'm done, nobody will ever remember this nonsense!" Veckus seethed.

Several of the other Consuls bristled, standing up menace in their eyes. Kallarkan remained calm, head bowed, leaning on his cane he spoke, "That is fine Veckus, you do whatever you see fit, but before you chose to ruin us, ruin me...at least see what I brought you here for." The old Turian pointed to the holo-feed in the center of the room. As if on cue, Seturius activated the feed. The room was overwhelmed by the unearthly cry of pure animus, the sound of the human-Reaper's abortion. Veckus spun on his heals, seeing the blasphemy writhing, all encompassing, universally directed hate seeming to pour from it in the form of dark energy crackling over its carapace. Veckus took a horrified step forward, unable to look away and unable to reconcile what he was seeing with dismissive skepticism.

"If you'd like, I can arrange a field trip through the Omega 4 relay to show you what's left first hand." Shepard commented sarcastically.

Veckus fell back on hide-bound defensiveness, "If there had been anything like this in your report to the council two years ago, it never would have been dismissed!"

Uriah felt his patience slip away and along with it, his couth just flew out the window and he suddenly found he wanted to throttle the Turian. Why did he have to keep coming up against pig-headed individuals like this? Part of him wanted to shoot anyone who was getting in the way of saving the galaxy in the head. He managed to keep that impulse in check but felt a part of his mind disengage...most likely the part that was responsible for him behaving with a semblance of diplomacy.

"Did you even see the fucking report?" Shepard shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to have Kallarkan's arm come up to hold him back.

Veckus recoiled, "No...but...they said your conclusions were all wrong, said it was all paranoid nonsense."

"Unless you read the report yourself you can't know what it said. Who's the idiot now? You just swallowed that ration of bullshit without a second thought? Didn't it seem funny to you that they wouldn't even allow it to be disseminated after they say they debunked it?"

"It made sense at the time...you're human, how was anyone supposed to believe a human over the council?" Veckus retorted.

"So you were willing to risk the life of every Turian because of racism? You make me fucking sick!" Shepard turned away, tightening hands into fists, he turned his head to Kallarkan once he had calmed enough to speak without shouting, "Consul, I have to get out of here before I do something we're all going to regret. I'm sorry, sir."

The old Turian pat Uriah on his armored shoulder, "Go take a walk, Commander. Maybe I can drive some sense through his thick hide."

Shepard nodded, feeling truly embarrassed for his behavior in front of the old officer. "Yes, sir, I'll do that."

Shepard exited the room, his armored foot-falls heralding his exit. When Kallarkan was satisfied the Commander was far enough away, he spoke. "Now, Veckus..." the old Turian propped his cane against the wall, "since the Commander is no longer here, I am willing to allow things to get unpleasant...just between us Turians."

Despite his age, Kallarkan had every ounce of menace in his voice and body language he had been able to muster when he was still leading soldiers into battle decades ago.

Veckus took a faltering step back.

"Let me tell you what I think of your politics, Veckus." the old Turian growled.

* * *

Shepard trudged down the rock paved path from the villa to the modest dock on the lake. He was still incensed and he wasn't totally sure why. He had been second guessed so many times by the council; called everything short of incompetent, had his judgment questioned on everything he did, and been marginalized even after being hailed the savior of the citadel. He was a brand name, a mascot the council could parade around...he was fucking window dressing. But for some reason this one Turian - a Turian, the condescension and racism shouldn't have even come as a shock - made him want to kill. Something was wrong, he had always been more level headed than that. He suddenly realized that these feelings of being overwrought and put upon were getting more common. What had Solus said about elevated stress level? He was having nightmares every night, he had lost most of his appetite, he was losing his patience more quickly. How long had it been going on?

Uriah closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the clean mountain air, in his head he just kept repeating "keep it together," saying it in his mind almost like a mantra. He couldn't crack yet, there was to much riding on him. If he didn't hold it together who would? Cerberus had been forced to bring him back to get the job done with the Collectors, the council had been forced to make him a Spectre to deal with Saren...who was the galaxy as a whole going to tap to take care of the Reapers, because there sure seemed to be a shortage of candidates stepping forward. The gravity of what that entailed hit him like a guided precision air strike. He was in effect responsible for the lives of every being in the galaxy that had advanced far enough to begin exploring the stars and all he could rely on was a shadow organization that was on the wanted list of just about every government in the galaxy. He took a halting step, felt like he was about to fall as his knees suddenly wanted to go out from under him. A voice in his head somewhere said, "Yeah, how fucked are you now?" He couldn't even definitively count on his own government to support him. If it came down to it, his own mother might be hunting him down.

The world suddenly seemed like it was spinning around him, as if the center of the universe had decided to suddenly stop rotating and start going the other direction. How long have I NOT been thinking about it? He found himself wondering which part of him was insane, the part that suddenly realized what this all entailed or the part of him who had completely overlooked it. When some hand from above pointed and said, "Go save the universe" it was easy to shout "okay" and go - do or die. At the end of the day, it was whoever that was above you pointing out the problem that was in charge and responsible, the overlord giving the directions just delegated to underlings. Now he was being asked to be the overlord. Shepard had not illusions, he was the one saving the universe, not the Illusive Man...he was just a logistical asset, the weight was on Shepard. He coughed a few times, feeling like he was going to be sick, but his gorge never rose and he was left standing there with a sick feeling and no release.

"I have to save the whole fucking galaxy?" He asked no-one in particular, "Why did I get picked for this? What did I do wrong?"

The burden of responsibility was so huge it was hard to define exactly what it felt like.

Responsible for your own life; not a burden.

Responsible for the lives of 10 souls; a light burden.

Responsible for the lives of 100 souls; a moderate burden.

Responsible for the lives of 1000 souls; a heavy burden.

Responsible for the lives of 10 trillion souls; only gods can contemplate such a burden.

He almost staggered to the dock, sitting down as soon as he got to it, feet hanging over the side, dangling inches above the water. He felt despair creeping into him, threatening to swallow him up. He could just fall into the lake now, let the armor drag him down and die. It would be all over for him, he wouldn't have to think about it anymore, it seemed like a pretty easy option. He believed there was an afterlife. If he and every other living sentient died, they'd all end up in the afterlife right? That seemed like a valid option, he found himself contemplating it seriously. In his mind thoughts raced around like ants; frantic and all heading in the same direction, towards an end of it all. Wasn't he technically dead already? What right did he have to defy death? Why couldn't he have just been allowed to rest finally? Hadn't he gone through enough.

_Son, never feel sorry for yourself, any time things seem too unfair, rise to the situation and strike back._

His chin lifted suddenly, eyes wide. "Dad..."

It had been 17 years since his accidental Element Zero exposure on the _Suphan Buri_, it had been the culmination of a rough year for him. The explosion that had result in him inhaling sixty two times the recommended maximum exposure amount of eezo had seemed like the icing on the crappy cake. Uriah had probably never seen his father face to face for anything more than three days at a time in his life. Despite the fact he barely knew the man, he never had a doubt who his father was because of the letters he wrote. A letter a week from the time he was born to the time he was seventeen. He hadn't used the extranet, typing impersonal Hi-how-are-yous, he had hand written one letter a week on paper and sent them through the standard supply chain of the Systems Alliance military. Sometimes they barely made it to a single page, other times he had written what felt like volumes. After the exposure he had begun manifesting uncontrolled biotic tendencies. He didn't like how it felt, didn't like the lack of control over his body. He'd wake up at night suddenly and something in the room would go flying. He'd get upset about something and a mirror would break or a glass would fall over. He felt like a freak, and being one of the few children on a ship only compounded it.

"Uri's weird! Uri's a freak!"

His grades started to slip and he was having discipline issues. His mother had insisted he was just being difficult, that being biotic made him special and he should be proud. The fact that he was going through puberty had just helped compound the difficulty of the whole thing. It was during that difficult time he received a seven page letter from his father, in it he had told him; _Son, never feel sorry for yourself, any time things seem too unfair, rise to the situation and strike back._ Those words had carried him through the next hard four years as he learned to suppress the involuntary biotic reactions. Those words had carried him through Combat Dive School during the coldest winter in South Carolina history. It carried him through Ranger training when he had double pneumonia. It carried him through SERE, Recon, Scout/Sniper, mountain survival, and SOLO jump school. It had carried him through his fast string of promotions from a ground side 2nd Lieutenant to a Fleet Marine Lieutenant Commander and it carried him through N7.

Dad's letters had stopped altogether a short while after Uriah's twenty second birthday. He wondered why for a few weeks, until he finally received the late noticed that his father had died above Elysium on a CAS mission. A micro tear in his aorta had opened as he was pulling G's for escape velocity after a bomb run. While he was on the ground fighting, his father had been up above helping save Marines and he had never known. His father died without him ever knowing him beyond what he wrote in the letters. If he was the kind of man his letters seemed to indicate he was, Uriah was proud to have him as a father. The letters were all he had of him...and they had gone down with the first Normandy. What was he doing sitting here feeling sorry for himself?

"You wouldn't want me to do that...would you dad? Nope, I'm your son after all...time to be a man."

"What kind of man was he?" Samara asked softly.

Shepard stood, unaware that she had approached but showing no surprise, "The best kind."

Samara kept an appreciable distance, sure they were being watched. "Garrus said you were upset about something, he said you stormed out of the villa. Are you alright?"

Shepard smiled, "I am now. I just had to remember who I was and where I came from."

The Justicar nodded, "That is good. Shepard...I need to talk to you, about last night."

Part of Shepard was already thinking _Uh, Oh, here it comes_, "I'm listening."

"I feel conflicted; I know the importance of this mission, but these feelings are...well, I have not felt like this since before your species first took to the stars." Samara paced the dock.

"Do you feel compromised?" He was asking as her Commander, not her prospective lover.

"No, my duty is without question, it is just that I do not know if I can hold these feelings in check until we have completed the mission. If anything should happen...to either of us...I do not want death to separate us without having been able to be with you at least once."

Shepard arched he left brow, a thin smirk forming on his face.

"But not yet...I still have things to...consider. It is not a thing I can rush into, no matter what my feelings are." Samara seemed agitated.

"Its okay Samara...I'm not going anywhere, and I will wait as long as it takes. I want this too."

The Asari smiled, "Thank you, Uriah, that brings me some measure of peace. Now, I must be going, it seems that our time spent together as of late has become an issue of contention for certain individuals."

Shepard crossed his arms, his face showing ire, "Is that so? Who has a problem with it and what did they say?"

Samara cocked her head to the side, her expression firm, "I do not feel it is right for me to disclose something I overheard. Needless to say, we should exercise a measure of discretion to avoid causing undue turmoil."

"The fact that my relationship with you would cause turmoil is the issue. I shouldn't have to have my dates cleared with the crew."

"What about the matter of propriety?"

"We're a non-military ship."

"Discipline?"

"Our mission is to save every sentient being in the Galaxy, doesn't require much reminding that our goal is paramount."

"What of setting an example?" Samara was trying to find something.

"Cerberus is a group that some believe would like to see every alien in the galaxy dead or enslaved, I'm showing them that humanity can remain strong without animosity. In this case being strong while loving an alien." Shepard cracked a grin.

Samara didn't hide her exasperation, he was countering all her points easily. "You are so difficult sometimes!"

"That's what you like about me, isn't it?"

"You know I can't answer that." She stepped in, stroked his jaw and as quickly turned and walked back up the dock and to the path.

Shepard stood there a moment watching her move as she ascended the path. Her lithe movements, so innocently normal for her, but still maddeningly titillating.

"Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave..."

* * *

Seturius exited the villa, letting out a deep sigh. They have moved Veckus, but at a cost; Kallarkan would be resigning from the Senax once they Shepard Report had been reopened and, if it was concluded that is showed a threat did exist, after a plan of action to counter the threat was finalized. Seturius was surprised that Veckus had been petty enough to force the concession, he was even more surprised when Kallarkan had agreed rather than ripping Veckus' crop out right there. He had agreed to go inform Shepard of the agreement, the hold-out voting block behind Veckus would vote in the affirmative, the measure would pass, and then the pressure would fall on the Citadel Council. It was a victory, but it felt hollow to him. He had wanted to force the concession from Veckus through logic and debate. As it had gone, Kallarkan had brow-beat the other Turian into a position where he was willing to bargain and then had sacrificed himself to seal the deal. Now he just had to find the Commander.

He walked out into the hanger, saw the Turian, Garrus Vakarian talking with the adolescent Krogan. He approached the two and the Krogan turned in disgust, "Come talk to me later, Garrus, I'll show you that thing I was telling you about."

"Alright Grunt, catch you later."

Seturius was confused, "Is something wrong with your comrade?"

The Krogan turned back, "I don't like Turians." he growled waving a dismissive hand.

Seturius' mandibles twitched in confusion prompting Vakarian to laugh. "Anything I can help you with Consul?"

"I am looking for Shepard, we have reached an agreement, the petition will go to the council."

"That's great. I'll see if I can get him back up here." The hardened Turian soldier opened his omnitool, "EDI...can you get a hold of the Commander for me?"

"It will be complicated as I lack hands." the AI replied.

"Aww, c'mon EDI, I thought we were friends." Garrus grinned.

"Connecting you now, Garrus."

"Shepard..."

"Yes, Garrus?" came the slightly modulated reply.

"Sour puss caved, the vote is going to the Senax."

"Excellent, when can we expect a result?"

"Probably not until tomorrow," Garrus replied, "The afternoon session is already in swing and its to late to get it on the agenda for today."

"Good enough, I wouldn't mind spending one more day here."

Garrus turned to Gavurn, "Did the General want to see Shepard?"

"We're still getting things sorted out so we can take action as soon as the Report is opened. He just wanted the Commander to know that one more step in the process has been completed."

Garrus keyed the mic, "You get that Shepard?"

"Yes I did, please extend Consul Kallarkan my thanks."

Consul Seturius nodded, "I most certainly will, Shepard."

* * *

Uriah waited as the room dimmed in that familiar way and the fluorescent tangerine of the projection matrix covered the walls. Signal data processed and the image coalesced into the familiar image of the empty room and chair, a blue star roiling in the background. Shepard was stunned at first to find the Illusive Man not sitting in his chair. The sound of dress shoes clicking across the floor filtered in from his left, as he finally caught glimpse of the Medician leader. He was slipping his jacket on, crossing to the chair. He sat, pulled a cigarette from his coat, lit it, and then took a drink from a tray brought in by an apparently blonde woman in white blouse and black skirt.

Shepard pantomimed looking at his wrist as if he were wearing a traditional watch. The Illusive Man ignored the gesture, taking a sip from the drink, setting it down then taking a long drag from his cigarette. He must have judged he had sufficiently made his point about being the one to dictate schedule, timing, and who would initiate contact and when because he finally spoke.

"Shepard, I assume from this rather sudden contact you have something important to tell me?"

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"I was with a guest, but she understands I occasionally have to be called away."

"Matriarch Trellani again?"

The Illusive Man opened his mouth to say something, paused, tapped his cigarette, "Shepard, I am impressed, it seems I underestimated your resourcefulness. Now, to the business at hand, what do you have to tell me?"

Uriah crossed his arms, "The last major opposition bloc to Kallarkan's group has fallen into line. We can expect a vote to petition for a reopening of my report as early as tomorrow afternoon. The Veckus opposition block won't bother debating the issue, that should give Kallarkan the majority he needs in the Senax. The political pressure on Councilor Nallurian should force the measure in the Citadel Council."

"Excellent, that is two votes was can count on, the concern however is delivering a third for the majority or ensuring an abstaining vote to prevent deadlock."

"The Asari tend to be conservative in these matters, they dislike having their political decisions second guessed." Uriah commented, pacing a few steps to the right.

"Very astute Shepard, you are correct, the Asari vote will be hard to leverage. That leaves the Salarians."

"And I have a former STG operator on my ship now, a former operator who undoubtedly knows some very embarrassing secrets the Salarians would not want to come to light."

The Illusive Man smiled, "It seems you are starting to think with the bigger picture clearly in mind Shepard."

"I got a free subscription to Ruthless Bastards quarterly, must have come with the Cerberus decoder ring."

"Why do I sense there is something else you want, Shepard?"

"Because if you couldn't anticipate you probably wouldn't be in charge there. Yes, I do want something else...two things."

The Illusive Man tapped ash from the cigarette, "And they are?"

"I want full operational control of the Lazarus Cell, I may be calling the shots, but I can't be required to deal with Miranda anymore."

The Illusive Man knit his brows, "Is Miss Lawson somehow compromised?"

"Yes...emotionally."

"How so?"

"She's in love with me."

"And...?"

"I'm not in love with her, I can't have her compromising the mission with command level decisions making or vetoing power. She is still valuable to the team, but I can't let her be in a position where she will let her personal feelings affect the security of my crew."

The Illusive Man pondered a moment, "You do know she will not respond well to this, don't you? She will insist that your spurning her will have no effect on how she carries out her duties."

Shepard sneered, "You have to know how emotionally maladaptive she is. She pretends to have full command of her emotions and faculties but in reality she doesn't function if things don't go her way."

"I have yet to see something not go her way, I guess you are the exception to the rule. I am not willing to concede this without some more evidence what you say is true. What was the second issue?"

Shepard uncrossed his arms, looked straight into the holographic face, "When this is over...all of this, the Reaper threat...you cut me loose and get me and anyone in the crew who so desires back into the Alliance Military."

The mastermind spread his hands helplessly, "Shepard, the Systems Alliance considers this organization a terrorist group, how can I pull those strings?"

Shepard crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes, "What about your connections in the admiralty? The way you pulled the strings to get the first Normandy developed? I know a lot more about your connections in the Systems Alliance government than you probably would like me to."

The Illusive Man shifted uncomfortably, "Very well...when the time comes I will see what I can do."

"Good enough. Now, what is this about traveling out into Sea of Heartbreak region upon leaving here?"

The Illusive Man steepled his fingers, seemingly thankful the conversation had shifted in a direction where he was back in control. "You are going to meet up with the Aegis Cell, I can't tell you anymore than that, they will brief you. Don't bother asking EDI or anyone else in the crew about the Aegis Cell, none of them know about it. In fact, besides me and the members of the cell, you are the only other one who now knows about it."

* * *

Mordin nodded to Shepard, punched in a communications code, an STG priority channel code. The code would link through comm buoys and connect him to the Citadel where it would route directly to Councilor Traka's intelligence secretary. He waited a moment as the signal passed through and was verified against the list of accepted codes.

"You don't have to do this Mordin...we can find another way." Uriah insisted.

"No Commander, threat transcends personal career. All life at stake. Salarian existence hinges on truth coming out. Would be foolish to not put in the full measure now."

Shepard nodded, "I appreciate that you're doing it for us."

"Not for you Commander, for all life."

A Salarian face appeared in the holodisplay. "Report."

"Ah...yes. Nothing to report at this time. However, must speak with Councilor Traka. Urgent matter, for his ears only...naturally."

"This is highly irregular! This channel is for STG business only, misuse is strictly forbidden. If you have to contact the Councilor please leave a message with his reception secretary." The Salarian at the other end was irritated.

Mordin suddenly turned into the all-business Salarian-on-a-mission he had seen on Virmire. There was something almost frightening about it when witnessing it first hand.

"Tell the Councilor that Operator zero one one five nine would like to speak with him immediately. Tell him it pertains to mission ten two thirty one, and tell him now."

Shepard had to admit he was downright spooked. Mordin was down right menacing, he suddenly understood why he had been so effective an operator with the STG, he could turn on the killer instinct like a light switch when need be. The Salarian on the other end stammered, then nodded uncomfortably, "Alright, please hold."

Mordin looked up to Shepard, gave him his ridiculously huge smile and nodded. Shepard cracked a lop sided grin. He had to admit, watching Mordin do his thing was entertaining, whatever "his thing" entailed at the moment. It was not so much the quality of a consummate professional as that of a savant...a natural genius. The projection flickered, then revealed the Salarian Councilor to the Citadel.

"Doctor Solus, I assume there is a very good reason for you to be contacting me through such unconventional means." He didn't hide is ire.

"Yes, matter of great importance. In few days time, vote will come up to re-open Shepard Report on Eden Prime War. Turians have renewed interest, human councilor will likely agree. Necessity for report re-examination dire." Mordin paused taking his long hissing inhale through his nostrils, "Need you to abstain to vote."

Takas stared at Mordin incredulously. "You have just asked me to engage in corruption. Do you have any idea what I could have done to you, Solus?"

Mordin's eyes narrowed, pupils retracting to slits. Shepard literally watched the change in personality occur.

"You will do nothing." Mordin growled, and just then he switched back to 'normal' which was to say, normal for Mordin. "Clan Urdnot proving exceptional in case of Krogan rebuilding effort. Leader Wrex cunning, solid diplomacy, excellent administrative skills. Understands necessity of united Krogan people. If information about Genophage to fall into Urdnot hands." sniffffffffff, "chance of Krogan population boom very likely."

Takas glared, "Alright Solus, you will get your abstaining vote, but I would posit that it would be foolish for you to show up in Salarian space for the next twenty years or so."

Mordin smiled affably, "Pleasure speaking, Councilor...always."

The Salarian savant closed the communication channel, looked over the Shepard and smiled devilishly. Shepard could only shake his head, grinning.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, Mordin."

"No cause for fear, Commander." Solus held up a reassuring hand, palm out.

"He said don't show up in Salarian space for twenty years, what did he mean by that?"

"Same as implied banishment. At current age, likely won't live another twenty years." he was very matter-of-fact about it.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"No need for apology, Commander. Salarian lives short by human comparison, barely perceptible to Asari and Krogan. Have no regrets, had an interesting life, met interesting people, had many adventures...made good friends."

Shepard nodded, "Can't ask for more in life, can you?"

"Harem of Asari maidens...might be nice..." the Doctor gave Shepard a knowing wink.


	9. Chapter 9

Councilor Nallurian had been staring at the screen for a long time. The message had come as a shock, just two days before the same measure had failed to make it through the Senax, and now he was confronted by what was, by all rights, a mandate. The measure had passed by a margin of seventy eight votes. The Reaperist case was presented on the floor and none had stood to contest it. Veckus hadn't even uttered a word, just let Seturius rail away at length and when he had finished, the Chairman called for the vote. There was some conspiracy at work, but he couldn't point to anything definitive as proof. His choices were clear cut...he could refused the mandate of the Hierarchy and step down as Councilor, or he could call for a vote in the Council to reopen the Shepard Report. He knew Anderson would vote to reopen the brief, he was sure that Councilor Serlenna would vote against it, the question came to what Takas would do. He turned his chair to look out over the presidium, saw where the statue dedicated to Shepard's "heroism" stood. He had considered petitioning to have it removed after Shepard's survival and current affiliation had been made apparent to the council. Executer Pallin had advised him against the move, reminding him that any move like that this close to his "death" would invite far to much scrutiny.

Financially Shepard had proven to be a boon for the Citadel. His actions, which had been the primary motivator for the inclusion of humanity as a member of Council had increased human commerce and, subsequently, the tariff revenue for the Citadel and the various other council races. C-Sec would have likely collapsed if not for the ready and able bodied supply of humans who filled in for the losses sustained during the Geth attack. The problem was Shepard made for a good symbol...and good symbols prove to be a thorn in the side of any government. As a paragon of justice, he inadvertently increased the scrutiny on the council and it's actions. Spectres were supposed to be, for all intents and purposes, nameless, faceless extensions of the council's will, not the poster-children for good policy. His popularity and the debt he was owed by the council made him problematic; how do you silence a mad prophet that has the ear of the people? When he had been declared killed in action, the original council members had breathed a sigh of relief. The could make a show or mourning the loss of a hero, then go back to business as usual. If Anderson's self-righteousness proved problematic, they could just shut him out by out voting him and stymieing his efforts to affect policy change. It was shortly after the council had decided to relegate Shepard to the role of tragic hero that his legend started to take on an ugly life of its own. And here were the fruits of it...Nallurian was being asked to dig up the "corpse" so everyone could see for themselves.

What would Takas do? As soon as he had received the diplomatic instructions for the Hierarchy he had started making calls. Serlenna had informed him she would vote against it, but Takas had failed to return his calls or mails. Anderson had also been noticeably quiet, likely the human Councilor viewed Nallurian's sudden reversal of opinion as dubious, but he was not about to squander a chance to get the report re-examined. Doubtlessly he was getting the Alliance Command Staff lined up to get copies of the report, hoping to spread the information as far as possible as quickly as possible before they found an excuse to close the briefs again. Two hours...two hours until the vote, and still no word from Takas, he pondered taking the unprecedented action of defying his own government, at which point they would likely have Pallin unceremoniously drag him from the council chambers and toss him on the first ship back to Turian space where he would be strung up by the talons and stripped of rank.

But what if Shepard was right? What if all the evidence he had collected did indeed point to some great terror that lay just beyond the light of the galaxy waiting with immesurable patience until they deem it time to come eliminate all the trappings of civilization and kill its people? The fact that Shepard had provided no hints to their motivations or origins was problematic, it damaged the veracity of his findings, but something about it chilled the reader to the bone, somewhere deep in the instinctive mind you knew it was possible and likely true. It was this that more than any other thing that had convinced Nallurian that Shepard was indeed mad...sane minds could not concoct such flights of fancy. What point was there knowing if it was true or not...if Sovereign had truly been a Reaper, what chance would Citadel Space have against legions of them? Was there the posibility that sentience would be able to rise against and defeat them? The Protheans, in all their wisdom, strength, and technological superiority had failed and had been rendered in complete to nothing but artifacts and archeological curiosities.

Why did so many beings believe so unquestioningly in the infallibility of this human? Human's had a term for saviors, it was taken from some ancient tongue long-since rendered dead by the passage of time: messiah. Was that Shepard's appeal, was he a messiah? Turians had ancient legends about warrior saviors and kings, beings who were greater than any obstacle arrayed against them. History showed that most of these tales were little more than political aggrandizement meant to give some ruler or chieftain a greater or more legitimate claim to power. Nallurian had always loved the stories as a child, something about learning of their origins had killed the spirit of wonder in him. Maybe it was easier to believe in heroes and messiahs, such beliefs give a sense of safety knowing that something stands between you and the darkness.

* * *

David Anderson was certain the vote would end in a deadlock. He was sure Nallurian was caving to political pressures on Palaven, to say that news feeds didn't lie was the kind of naiveté he expected from some junior trade negotiator, but while you couldn't always trust them, they did make for a good thermometer at times. The water was getting hot for the Turians, and something was moving them to get out of the pool and look at what the weather was doing. He hadn't heard a peep from Shepard since he had made his surprise reappearance a month back. Rumors had drifted in, a trickle of intel from various Systems Alliance analysts and operators. Shepard was on the move, but nobody knew to what extent. Information coming out of Horizon was being strictly controlled, at least part of Anderson believed this was being done to avoid wagging a finger in the Council's face. "See, we told you so!" was not the kind of thing a junior member told to the old guard if they wanted to continue rising in popularity. Cerberus had connections up, down, and sideways through the Systems Alliance, but they too were being very careful what the let out of through those sources and, by proxy, to Anderson. Anything he could get out of Shepard about the real nature of the threat would help him gain leverage in the Council and maybe finally force a concrete policy. Even if there was nothing that could be done with any degree of practicality against the Reapers, inaction was by far the worst option. The council would convene in a little over an hour, he had already put things in place to get the report out to all the top brass and sympathetic eyes and ears in the rest of the Systems Alliance and beyond. His console flashed. Reaching over he tapped a key to receive.

"Councilor, I have a huge data dump coming in to be routed to your database." His receptionist sounded more than a little confused.

"What can you tell me, Judith?"

"Sir...I'm not sure where it is coming from, its slipping all the firewalls, it came in on Spectre channels but looks like its bypassing the normal handling servers in C-sec."

"Alright Judith, let me have it."

"Sending the dump to your console now, sir."

The data load started, showing the progress of a file collection that was showing 4.6 Petabytes and was growing. The files were processing through quickly, as if whoever had sent it knew how to hijack the Citadel's data networks to speed as much data through as possible. It would take a team of hackers with multiple white-hats as support staff to pull off that kind of combination high speed data transfer and hack-job. The top end stopped at 6.5 Petabytes while the progress of the upload sped along. Anderson immediately wondered if this was Cerberus' work, but he was sure that they would not have had the understanding of the Citadel's networks to pull it off. Whoever it was, they had some information they thought Anderson, and Anderson only, needed to see. When the package finished, he went to open the contents and was prompted to enter a password. Above the password infantry were two lines.

"Patton at the Pas-de-Calais?"

"No, they're at..."

Of course, it had to be him. He typed in the password.

N-o-r-m-a-n-d-y

The file package opened;

_David_

_I know the vote is coming up, not a lot of time available._

_This is everything I've learned thus far. It was worse than_

_I had feared. You have to let them see this, it might open_

_their eyes. Get Nallurian on board, the Hierarchy moved_

_on this because of what I had found, he needs to see it too,_

_we need someone who believes in this as strongly as we __do._

_Si vis pacem, para bellum._

_Uriah_

"Judith! Get me Councilor Nallurian, tell him its urgent!"

"Yes sir, Councilor Anderson."

* * *

Councilor Kalo Takas said nothing as he waited. Councilor Versa Serlinna had arrived at roughly the same time he had, but there was still no sign of either Anderson or Nallurian. Maybe they had conveniently killed each other...that would render the vote unnecessary for the time being. Once this was over with he would see to ensuring that Mordin Solus was dealt with, his family wouldn't be able to breed for the next 60 years. Threatening to loose the Krogan, he had half considered having him killed, but decided that ruination and banishment was adequate enough.

"The Turian calls an emergency session and then is late, how typical." he grumbled.

"I would not say that too loud, Councilor, here he comes now." The Asari representative replied.

Nallurian and Anderson approached, their steps quick, their eyes resolved. They took the steps leading up to the council seat two at a time. Takas might have been mistaken, but it appeared they were actually on the same page. The mails and calls he had received from Nallurian earlier in the day had seemed to indicate that the Turian Councilor was acting solely under the political pressure from his government.

Councilor Serlinna spoke, "We call this emergency session of the Council to order as per the request of Councilor Nallurian. Councilor, you have the floor."

Nallurian seemed agitated, Serlinna expected as much, with her vote against and the likely acquiescence of Takas, the matter would be deadlocked until a mandate was established in either her or the Salarian governments.

"Under the emergency review clause of the Council charter, I move that the Shepard Eden Prime War Report be reopened, immediately." Nallurian was adamant, was he just putting on a show for the cameras and the Hierarchy back on Palaven.

"Very well," Serlinna droned, "the matter will come to a vote."

"Aye." Nallurian replied sternly.

"Aye." Anderson followed.

"Nay." Serlinna let the word roll from her lips like a death warrant.

Takas said nothing.

Nallurian's mandibles twitched, all the messages he had sent to Takas...was his silence a form of de facto agreement? Takas' vote could change the course of the galaxy.

"I must regretfully abstain from the vote as the Salarian government has not ventured an opinion as to the validity or invalidity of the report."

Anderson turned to Nallurian, "Does that mean we won?"

The Turian nodded nervously.

"So let the record show, the measure carries with a vote of two to one with one abstaining." Serlenna intoned.

Nalluian immediately opened his omnitool, "Give me Pallin, now."

The dusky voice of the Executer came through, "This is Pallin."

"Executer, I need you to release the locks on the Shepard Eden Prime War Report, immediately and make it available for download and dissemination by Council executive authority, immediately."

There was a moment of silence and some tapping, "I see here the measure carried Councilor, unlocking the report now. It is available for access."

Anderson followed suit, opening his Omnitool. "Judith, get the Shepard Report sent to everyone on the short list, immediately."

"What is the meaning of all this?" Serlenna finally objected.

"Shepard sent the Omega 4 report to me fifty minutes ago, I think its time we looked at the Eden Prime Report with a more open mind." Anderson declared.

Serlenna shook her head, "Any information he acquired on the Collectors will likely offer no further evidence of the threat of the supposed Reapers."

"You don't understand, Shepard went through the Omega 4 relay, and what he found...well, its better you see it for yourself."

Nallurian felt a ball of dread growing in his stomach. There was a darkness that sought to consume everything waiting somewhere out in the reaches of space. The likelihood that anything could stave it off was remote, and when the inevitable occured, his people would be nothing but archeological oddities to the next races that rose up. Death or worse was all that awaited them. But if they could hold just long enough, long enough for a messiah to come. Yes, a messiah, it was fitting. Salvation would come at the hands of the humans, or a human specifically. Reapers...demons...gods, whatever they were, they had to know some modicum of fear because of him. As far as he knew, no race had ever faced the darkness and prevailed. Shepard had slain gods, and his war with them was just beginning. Through the fear he felt a spec of hope.

* * *

"Shepard, Legion and I have completed the security bypass and upload. The data packet was received by Councilor Anderson and the data has successfully decrypted." EDI informed Uriah.

"Great job EDI."

"Thank you, Commander." the AI replied with affected affability.

Shepard turned to his assembled team, "Well people, we've done what we can to get them to understand what we're up against. Its up to them now to take action to prepare, but our job isn't over by a long shot. We've still got to see if we can figure out a way to stop them. I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again...the Reapers are a threat to all of us. Everyone we've ever known, ever cared about, ever loved; the Reapers will take them all down to the very last soul."

He looked over to Garrus and Tali, "Some of you were with me when we faced down Sovereign. You were all at my side when we killed this last one. I don't know how many of them are still out there, but I won't go quietly. The only way they are going to destroy the Galaxy this time is over my dead body. We have little time and even fewer leads, but there is no unslayable dragon, and I fully intend to put these monsters down, even if I have to do it with my bare hands."

His eyes panned the briefing room, "Look at each other, look at yourselves, imagine every last one of your people, that's what you're fighting before. The politics stop here boys and girls, we're all in this together, you're not Human or Turian, Drell or Asari, Krogan or Salarian, Quarian or Geth...you're sentient beings and none of us stand if we don't all stand. We have no more options but to give the full measure. In human mythology Cerberus was the hound who guarded the underworld, keeping those who resided there from escaping. Our job is to keep hell from ever reaching the world of the living. As of today, when you say you are Cerberus, its because you are the last line of defense between the world of the living and the world of the dead."

He let the words sink in a moment, "Now, lets save the galaxy, shall we?"

The room was silent, the weight of what he had said was oppressive but also inspiring. Garrus finally spoke, "Shepard...you had me at 'well, people'."

Uriah grinned, "Alright, dismissed."

The team seemed rejuvenated. There was no mistaking his words as anything but laying a heavy burden on them, but at the same time, he had freed them from themselves. Their goal was bigger than them, and they finally understood it in its fullness. Petty hatreds and biases suddenly paled when compared to the animus they were facing. It was the freedom that only those who know they are dead can experience. Regrets meant nothing now, ambitions meant nothing. Until they had fought back the darkness, their lives were on hold, and they believed it fully, clung to it, lived it.

"Joker! Set a course for the Artemis Tau cluster, we still have work to do."

"Aye aye, commander. Course laid in." the helmsman replied over the intercom.

They were setting a course for unknown waters, and there were definitely monsters waiting in them. It all had such a profoundly mythological quality to it. Shepard wondered what would be said of their voyage in a thousand years. Would he find himself in the same annals as Odysseus, Jason, and Perseus? How would the new human mythology read? It wouldn't be the new human mythology...it would be the new mythology of every race that would witness the dark days to come. There would be dark days, but he felt with every fiber of his being now that there would be a triumph at the end and never again would life be snuffed out. Was it defiance of God? Was it like it was said in the dream he had, that this was the will of the Almighty? No, he couldn't believe that...because any God that gave him the will to fight would give him the chance to prevail. All life, everywhere, now and forever...it was one hell of a motivator. As strong as that motivator was, he could think of one even stronger, and she was waiting for him in the cargo hold even now.

"EDI, what is our time to the Palaven relay?" Shepard asked.

"Two hours, fifteen minutes, twenty eight seconds."

"Good, I'm going to be sparring in the cargo hold, no disruptions short of an emergency, if you please."

"Understood, Commander."

**[! Author's Note !] No, this isn't the last chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

Shepard heard the subtle whine of capacitor banks dumping their power load into acceleration circuits. High pitch, low volume, short transference time, it wasn't a rifle or heavy pistol, his head was already ducking back. Submachine gun, short stroke burst cyclic rate. His head was the only place not currently armored, it was the only possible target. The rounds splattered against the bulkhead, shattering to dust centimeters from his face. His M-5 was in his hand and he was on his knees in a Weaver stance immediately. Samara was resting the M-12 on her shoulder, looking quite pleased.

"Did you just try to kill me?" He tried to keep his voice calm and failed.

"If I had been able to kill you, I doubt you would have been able to make it as far as you have." She replied softly. "But that did confirm something I had wondered for a while now." She tossed the M-12 away, "You are every bit a warrior, Shepard. Its what you are down to every fiber of your being. Your every cell is a warrior's cell. But...I am still not quite sure how much of a warrior."

Shepard stood, dropping the M-5, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that again."

"Next time I'll use an assault rifle if you'd prefer."

"That's not what I meant. What do you mean by how much of a warrior, didn't you just say every cell in my body was a warrior's cell?"

"I've met many warriors that were warriors through and through, but the didn't survive an Asari commando." Samara was pacing back and forth, already looking for an opening.

"Matriarch Benezia said something similar to me once." Shepard started pacing opposite her, keeping the distance interval optimized.

"When was this?"

"Just before I killed her retinue."

"And what did she say to that?"

"Not much, she died a few seconds later."

Samara rolled her eyes, a slight smile on her face. "Shepard...I've had five hundred years on the most experienced Asari commando."

* * *

"EDI...did I just hear gunfire?" Jack craned her neck, head turned in the direction she had heard the sound come from down in her hold.

"I cannot assume to know what you may and may not be able to hear, Jack. Based on your physical and decibel range you likely did."

"So that was gunfire?"

"Yes Jack, shots were fired in the cargo bay." EDI replied calmly.

"And that doesn't seem like a fucking problem to you?" Jack was indignant.

"There were no injuries." the AI sounded as if she was justifying her lack of concern.

* * *

She shot her arm forward, a condensed mass effect field aiming where Shepard had been, he was already rolling away. The condensed lance of biotic power smashed into a support strut which groaned in protest. He came to a stop and sprung immediately, shooting towards her aiming low to take her legs out from under her. She leapt, bringing her legs up and clear of his charge, landing she cart wheeled away. He was startlingly fast and his capacity to anticipate was almost defying logic.

"So I take that to mean you're not going to go easy on me then?" He grinned.

"I never was going to go easy on you, Uriah. I simply wanted you to know that you should not go easy on me."

Samara took a bounding step forward leading with her right foot, pushing off once it hit the ground she brought her left knee forward, letting moment and biotic energy carry her forward with remarkable speed. Shepard brought his own knee up blocking the body blow and letting her knee collide with his shin. She landed, immediately pirouetting into a right-hand spinning back-fist only to have it blocked by his forearm. She let her momentum carry her around into a left hook. She was rewarded with the feeling of his ear being smashed by her fist but had her satisfaction immediately dashed by his own right cross catching her squarely on the jaw.

Shepard staggered, swearing a sledgehammer had just collided with his head. His right ear was ringing, his eyes wanted to close, but he forced them open while tightening the muscles in his legs to keep them from going out from under him. Her hands were so small when he had held them in his, yet he was sure that not even a Krogan had ever hit him that hard. She was going to bring a fight...good.

Samara almost felt consciousness leave her. Stars were exploding before her eyes even as everything else seemed to darken. She could taste blood in her mouth. How had he managed to hit her? How had he managed to remain standing after the biotic energy she put behind the punch? How could he manage to punch that hard with nothing but bone and muscle driving his fist? He wasn't going to hold anything back...good.

Samara lunged, shooting her leg forward from a side stance, striking with the shin at the chest, throat, and face. His hands alternated; right, left, then right again, blocking the blows. In response he snapped his right leg towards her thigh, rotating sharply at the hips as he did. The blow impacted against her biotic barrier with a deafening thump. Taking advantage in the first of his weight, she shot her foot into the side of his left knee, crumpling it, as he collapsed she brought her right fist back high, cocked at the elbow behind her head; infused with biotic energy she would finish the fight now. The blow to her stomach literally lifted her from the sparring mats.

She staggered back a few steps, stopping in her tracks wincing. Shepard was gritting his teeth, his face showing pain as he rose, favoring the left knee. Samara spit some blood from her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Shepard rubbed at the knee, slapping the inside of the joint a few times. Their eyes locked, both seeming to convey one thought, "This is good."

She charged in again, aiming a flurry of jabs for his face. He gave ground, moving nimbly backwards despite the knee injury while slapping the blows away. On the last jab she under extended and he stepped in close, grabbing a wrist and kicking his right leg up higher than her head, as he swung in back down she opened her first, twisting and slipping his grasp then kicked her own feet up while bending backwards, executing a back-handspring to clear his sweep attempt. Before she had fully righted herself, he was on top of her. She was mounted almost instantly. She tried to writhe free only to feel powerful thighs clamped vice-like above her hips. She swung her hands wide, clapping his ears with great force. He grunted, then locked her arms with his. Again she could do nothing against the pure physical power. lifting her shoulders from the mat she reared her head back then shot her forehead into the bridge of his nose. His weight shifted a moment and she turned trying to slip free of the legs pinning her to the mat. She didn't realize it was mistake until he had taken control of her side, leaving her right arm effectively useless pinned against the mat. His right arm passed between her right shoulder and her neck then bent back and inwards, her chin was resting on his elbow as his left arm his left arm passed under hers, coming up behind her head, the hand holding her neck firmly in place. He flipped onto his back, carrying her around with him, his right leg wrapped around her legs, his foot locked off behind his left knee.

She realized the kind of trouble she had gotten herself into when she suddenly couldn't breath. She had indeed underestimated him, he was far more resourceful than she had expected, and humans always seemed to come up with such unique ways to make war despite their short lives. She had to remain calm, conserve her oxygen until she could devise an escape method. Her legs were trapped, her left arm had limited move the room, and her right was marginally incapacitated by his right arm locked around her neck. Focusing she let biotic energy surround them in a mass effect field, lifting them both from the mat. She had initially expected him to let go once the sensation of micro-gravity hit him, but he held on tighter, arching his back to pull her tighter into the choke hold. She focused on the field, ignoring the sensation of light-headedness that was even now growing debilitating. When they reached a high she was satisfied with she shifted the field, altering it to push down on them. They slammed into the ground; the strength with which they hit forced her to gasp, his arms came away from her neck.

Samara squirmed free and mounted Shepard, bringing her right fist back. Before she could bring it down his left arm shot up, hand closing around her throat, keeping her body locked at a distance where her right would not be able to make contact with him. She adapted immediately, shooting her left fist in, catching him with a quartet of quick left hooks before he caught her wrist.

Shepard's head was swimming, he wasn't sure how many times she had punched him before he caught the wrist. She had, to her own detriment, punched rhythmically, it became easy to anticipate when the next blow would come, his right hand was ready when the next blow came and he caught it. She was lighter than he had anticipated for being able to hit so hard. Planting his feet on the mat he lifted with his pelvis, his shoulders providing back leverage, as his torso, and consequently her center of mass, came up off the mat, she faltered, and he quickly snapped his hips to flip over back on top of her. She gasped, and then quickly connected with a hard right cross to his chin. It stung, but didn't have the jarring effect she likely intended.

She felt a bead of sweat fall from his face and hit hers, only then did she realize she was sweating as well. She couldn't help but think how much better this would feel if they weren't in armor...well, the part where they were intertwined like they were now, the blows they were showering each other with would have likely been debilitating painful without the armor. He was panting a little, probably trying to use the short lull in the contest to reoxygenate his blood.

"Uriah...you've only hit me in the face once." she chided.

"Its too pretty to punch." he teased.

She swung her arms wide, popping him in the ears again, punishment for not taking the fight seriously enough. He pushed off and away, falling to his back. She rolled to her hands and knees, taking a few deep breaths while he was down, she looked up for a moment, preparing to move to mount him again and was surprised to see him perform a straight legged kip-up. He was standing. He went into his fighting stance, waiting for her to rise. So he wasn't taking their contest that seriously, giving her the opportunity to rise was a tactical mistake and she intended to exploit it, mildly disheartened that his fighting spirit was being tempered by concepts of fair play. In battle fair play was foolish, one did not extend courtesies to a rival, it was a sure way to get one's self killed.

She charged forward from her hands and knees, dropping before she reached him and sliding between his legs, kicking the back his right knee hard as she slid past. He dropped to a knee and she quickly rose, bringing her right fist back, charging it with biotic power, he spun on his knee quickly, his powerful right arm hooking in behind her knees. Before she could fire off the punch her feet were in the air and she hit the mat hard, her head rebounding off the padding. He pushed off from his kneeling position, once again shooting his foot up above his head, then bringing it down swiftly, heal first at her midsection. She rolled away at the last second, then somersaulted backwards to her feet.

* * *

Jack stuck her head into engineering. The gentle thrum of the engines she was accustomed to in the hold was almost mind-crushingly loud inside the confines of the engineering section. She let out a shrill whistle, Gabi Daniels and Ken Donnelly turned to see where the sound had come from.

"Shepard's at it again." Jack declared.

"Fighting Miranda ag'in is he?" Donnelly quipped in his thick brogue.

"Nope, he's fighting Samara this time." Jack replied.

"I never figured the Commander for a woman batterer." Daniels stated in a sour tone.

"What? The Commander would never batter a woman...unless she really deserved it." Tali protested.

Jack folded her arms, "Well, are you three going to come watch or what? Not like there is much else in the way of entertainment on this fucking tub."

"Oh I don' know about that, there are plenty'a things a healthy man and woman can do to be entertained." Donnelly countered with his patent Lothario bravado.

Jack curled her lip back in disgust, eyes largely inpassive.

"Don' knock it till ya try it." Donnelly rebutted.

"C'mon, this fight looks like its about to get interesting." With that Jack turned to return to the observation window over the bay.

* * *

"So how long have they been at it?" Jacob asked, watching the battle between the Spectre and the Justicar.

"Twenty five minutes since I got down here." Garrus replied.

"Who is winning?" the human inquired.

Garrus looked over at Jacob, mandibles opening wide in a display of helplessness, "I couldn't tell you."

"Shepard Commander currently has a higher lactic acid build-up in his system, however, his blood oxygenation level is point zero three one percent higher than that of Justicar Samara. If Shepard Commander were to remove seventeen kilograms of equipment, his ratio of muscle exertion to blood oxygenation would be optimized." Legion seemed to spoil it for everyone, demystifying the super-human battle.

Jack spoke, not taking her eyes from the fight, "He's holding back."

Jacob arched his brows, "You think so? Asari Justicars are famed the galaxy over for their combat prowess. The Commander can't be perfect at everything.

"You paid two billion on him, he should be good at everything." Jack sounded sour, "Mister perfect...he could beat her if he wanted to, he's leaving himself open...not exploiting openings, he thinks its a game. Fuck, I can't watch this anymore!"

Jack stormed off, heading back to her hole, leaving the collection of other sentients to watch the battle as it unfolded. Though she feigned exasperation, she was more concerned with the growing heat between her legs, the fight excited her and she was having a hard time pretending otherwise. If she had been alone, she would have likely proceeded to satisfy herself right there viewing the fight from above, but with the half dozen other people present, she couldn't satiate her moistening femininity.

"Its like watching two Elkoss Platinum nine hundreds in a demolition derby." Garrus commented, referring to the ultra-premium aircars reserved almost exclusively to the ultra-wealthy or diplomats.

The exchanges between the two were fierce. Samara had no compunctions about striking at Shepard's face and head, the Commander had spit out a fair share of blood from where he blows had landed. Conversely Shepard focused on her body, several of his blows had knocked her flat despite the biotic barriers she kept erecting to protect herself. If she got to close, the tossed her about effortlessly using nothing more than raw physical power. Both of them had speed for days, despite their exhaustion they had not sacrificed on speed when snapping out kicks and punches even if they were telegraphing a bit too much. The attacks were savage, but it was almost like courtship, each trying to show the other what they had, trying to impress. If they had been serious about hurting each other, they both had foregone dozens of opportunities. Several times they taunted each other; Shepard with the "bring it on" hand gestures and Samara flipping her scalp frills at him, a challenge among Asari during their boisterous maiden years.

* * *

"Getting tired, Shepard?" Samara taunted.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were just warming up, is the real fight going to start now?"

"Bluster doesn't suit you, you're so much more attractive when you let your actions do the talking."

She charged, catching him flat footed. His mind was screaming at him; stupid, Shepard, very stupid. She caught him square on the jaw with her right fist the biotic field wrapped around her forearm effectively quadrupling the effective weight of the blow. He staggered back, his legs threatening to go out from under him. For a split second everything went black as his brain seemed to be trying to reboot itself. A flying kick to his chest took advantage of his backwards momentum, knocking him to the ground, he involuntarily somersaulted backwards, landing on his back. She was on top of him before he had regained his bearings. Training took over and his arms went up, warding a flurry of blows aimed for his head. She was planning to finish the fight now. A still small voice was scolding him in the back of his mind; _all the effort you went through trying to bring her out of that shell, trying to get to know and understand her, trying to understand your own feelings for her, and you're just going to let it end with her pummeling you right here on the floor._ The voice wasn't finished; _man, you're pathetic, she wanted you to prove yourself, what have you proved, you're to macho to fight a girl? She has been fighting beings as tough as you since your ancestors were scratching dirt back in the old countries._ Okay, that's how it was, she wasn't going to respect him as a mate and a warrior until he showed her what he was really worth.

"Samara...I'm going to have to hurt you now."

He reached up, grabbing the collar of her armor, pulling her close, then shooting his arms forward, pushing away as he did. She flew off him, landing on her feet, staggering back. He rotated his hips, copying the Wu Long Xiao Zhu move he learned in N7 CQB. He reached his feet, and took a bounding step forward, she advanced to meet him with an attack of her own. Before she could kick he shot his own right leg up, snapping it from the hip at her midsection. Her arm came down to block, biotic energy reinforcing the limb.

His leg hit her arm with the force of a crashing freight shuttle. She staggered to the side, spreading her feet apart, leaning heavily on her right leg to keep from falling over. His leg was back again, bent slightly at the knee, the toe of his boot tracing along the mat as he shot it forward again rotating through his hips. The shin struck her again, higher on the arm, the biotic barrier held but she was forced further to her right, body bent at her waist, the weight she was putting on her right leg was the only thing holding her up. Hand clapped down on her shoulders and his left knee shot up towards her chest. She crossed her arms over her upper thorax to absorb the blow, felt it lift her physically from the mat. The onslaught wasn't over, the knee shot down then came back up again. Even with the barriers it felt like she was being struck by an aircar. His hands let go of her shoulders, the left grasping the collar of her armor, the right grabbing the inside of her left thigh, he lifted her effortlessly, tossing her over his head and onto the mat. She landed on her back, head bouncing off the mat. Finally, he was fighting with the fury she wanted.

He charged where she was lying, going for the mount to finish the fight, she tried to scramble and he caught her arm in his right hand. She turned to punch at him and he dropped to his back, bringing his legs up the left going over her right shoulder and his right over her left, the foot slipped easily behind his left knee, and he extended his body, pulling on the arm.

She gasped in surprise, unable to focus her abilities enough to blow him off of her or attempt to create a pocket of weightlessness around them. He wrenched, she almost felt her shoulder seperate, and gasped again, the pain was excruciating, she went limp for a moment and the grip was released. She felt him scrambling around her, felt the right arm once again go around her neck, felt the left go under her left arm and fingers gripping the back of her skull. Her chin was to high, before she could lower it to protect her throat his right arm constricted around it. She spread her legs, placing a foot on either side of his trying to keep him from immobilizing them as he had before. His knees came up, allowing his feet purchase on the mats, he raised his pelvis, his shoulders pressed hard against the mat, lifting her up and bending her body over his, she felt what air she had in her lungs forced out with a dying gasp. She smiled just before she lost consciousness, she had seen what she wanted in him.

When she came to, Uriah was rubbing her hands between his. He looked relieved, she wasn't sure if it was because the fight was over, he had won, or if it was because he wasn't sure she would wake up. She felt a bit cold, the sweat on her face and the opening between her breasts on her armor was cooling rapidly. She reached up with her right hand, slapping him weakly on the jaw where a fresh bruise was forming. She smiled, at him. He smiled back sheepishly.

"So how many commandos did Benezia have?" Samara asked.

"I'm not really sure, it was kind of hectic and we never did a body count."

She sat up, rubbing her right shoulder. "You are too rough." she teased.

Shepard turned his head, spitting blood from his mouth, "You're one to talk, I think you did some permanent dain bramage with that last haymaker."

"I like stupid men." she fired back.

"And you had your eyes on me for what reason?"

"For Krogan this would have qualified as foreplay...what about for your species?" Samara inquired, wiping sweat from between her breasts.

"It goes either way...this would either qualify as foreplay or the proceedings of a divorce. What about for Asari?"

"My bond mate was soft, Shepard. The only thing violent about her was her tongue; she did with words what she could not with fists and feet. Emotional violence can leave worse scars than the physical kind. I feel you will likely be the opposite."

Shepard nodded, eyes showing understanding, "Well, lets get up to the infirmary, let Doctor Chakwas check us out and treat any damage. This makes two women on the ship I've come to blows with...she's going to think I'm an abuser." he chuckled.

"We could always say we fell down the stairs." Samara smiled mischievously.

"Nope, I already used that one after the bout with Miranda. Lets just tell her the shuttle attacked us."

Samara laughed, God...he loved that sound.

* * *

Jack lay on her cot rubbing idly at the bristly hairs on her scalp. The first orgasm hadn't satiated her, the second and third had managed to take the edge off. The trousers were lying wadded up in the corner and she had donned her old jumpsuit, the cut-off tank she was wearing still smelled vaguely of sweat. She had underestimated her own excitement, before she had even reached her first climax she was covered in a layer of beaded excretions, rolling off her stomach, between her breasts, coating her back and stinging her eyes. After she came down from the third she had stripped off her camo pants and wiped herself off, she could still faintly smell the salty scent of sex emanating from the moistened spot between the legs of the trousers..

"Hey EDI."

"Yes Jack?"

"Has Shepard fucked Samara yet?"

"I am not sure I can discern the meaning of your question. If by 'fucked' you mean exploited, deceived, or schemed in relation to and made her a victim of plots of machination, I have no evidence to that extent."

Jack groaned, "No, I mean has he plowed her, had sex with her."

"There is no evidence to support that conclusion."

"What about when they were in the woods?" Jack rolled onto her stomach.

"Neither Shepard nor Justicar Samara removed or opened any component of their armor during the time they spent in proximity to one another on Palaven."

Jack pondered a moment, not sure what to assume from that.

"If I might make a suggestion, it would perhaps be in your best interest to seek any recreational sexual activity with another member of the crew."

Jack sneered, "Why, do you think I want to have sex with Shepard?"

"Yes, you indicated as much to agent Lawson, your biometric readings when you made the assertion did not indicate you were lying." the AI replied frankly.

"I could just be a really good liar."

"I have documented thirty eight occurrences when you made assertions or claims that were not based in fact, each time your biometric readings indicated increase in blood pressure and galvanic skin response. You are not a good liar, Jack."

"Why does it have to be about sex? Can't I just want to have someone for some other reason than fucking?"

"I am not qualified to discuss this matter with you, Jack. Questions regarding deeper emotional issues should be directed to Yeoman Chambers. In regards to the question of sex, you have had four orgasms in the last sixteen hours, during none of the afore mentioned were you physically engaged with another being."

"What? There were only three! Oh...there was that one this morning. Nevermind. So who do you think I should screw around with then?"

The AI paused, compiling, "Options are as follows; Zaeed Massani."

"Guh, too old."

"Mordin Solus"

"Too bookwormy."

Thane Krios."

"Too clingy."

"Garrus Vakarian"

"Too...Turian."

"Urdnot Grunt."

"That might be...interesting."

"Was there anything else Jack?" EDI's politeness sounded as artificial as her voice.

"Nah, nothing else. Hey...uh...you don't log these conversations do you?" Jack sat up.

"Not in a manner that is accessible by anyone but myself."

"And you're not going to...you know...be like telling anyone, right?"

"It will be kept confidential unless it pertains directly to a compromising of the mission."

"Okay cool...we should be fine then."

"Logging you out, Jack."

Shepard wasn't even her type really, he needed some more tattoos, like if the sleeve on his right arm was a full sleeve. And the haircut...to regulation Alliance goody goody, that would have to change too. And some piercings, the lip, a few in his ears. It wasn't that she couldn't overlook the lack of those elements, he would just need some work. He would definitely need a tattoo of a mechanical heart of something on his chest. Maybe something like a scroll on his back listing everywhere he'd fought. Tally marks for everyone or everything he'd ever killed. Or little smiley faces, that would work even better. She would like it if he was a little paler too, not quite so healthy toned. Some black nail polish would similarly make a nice accent, a good dye job on the hair, something like a deep red, to totally clash with the blue in his eyes. That would be her perfect Shepard; not that he was bad as is, just a bit to straight laced compared to what she was used to. What she was used to, they were all losers compared to a guy like Shepard. He didn't have to _try_ to be bad ass, he _was_ bad ass. But he had a soft side too, it was sappy but kind of sweet, she would never admit that she secretly had a soft spot for sweet. To admit it would be to admit she had a soft spot...a soft spots for soft spots was a soft spot. She started growing irritated with her ruminations, she wasn't going to let herself be soft. Her mind went back to building her ideal Shepard, within minutes she felt the first twinges of excitement in her nethers.

"Fuck...now I have to start all over again."


	11. Chapter 11

Richard Cole knew that his gunship was at the end of the day was equal parts workhorse and war fighter. But to him, it was primarily his baby. It had taken it share of punishment. In this particular A-61 he had flown mercs doing relief security on Eden Prime after the Geth attack, later he had flown contractors to and from various colonial facilities to get it up and running. Later he had been contracted to provide transport and close air support for mercs hunting Geth. He had been part of a PMC security detail for some business exec on Illium, had been a gunship suppressing anti-government rebels out in the terminus, and finally when it had left a bad enough taste in his mouth, he had signed on with a company to provide humanitarian aid. Omega turned out to be worse than anything he had experienced in civilian life, the privations suffered by some, the excess by others, and all of it without a speck of hope or faith to shore those souls up. Daily he saw something that left a bad taste in his mouth. His family was religious, he had been too, he never felt that he had lost his way, but there days on Omega when he felt he was close to it.

He was busy re-installing the passenger couches that he had taken out during their stint as a medevac crew. The new job was going to be what he had always kind of dreamed he would use the gunship for...inserting operators to their mission. It was strange when he thought about it, the Alliance Military was paying him to do just that as a uniformed member, the series of events that had caused him to ETS out of the Alliance seemed almost to fantastic to believe when he thought back on it. He had been a good pilot, he had N7 Marines that trusted him emphatically to get them to their DZs safely, then take them back out when they had completed their mission. Uncle Mike had been understanding, he was the first one he had told he was getting out of the Alliance Military, of course Uncle Mike also had a better understanding of what he had been through during his stint than his family had.

"Cole, need a hand?"

The Batexan looked up to see Shepard standing under the winglet, looking into the cabin.

"Sure Skip, just getting these couches put back in. Can you hold it in place while I put the floor anchors in?"

Shepard climbed into the cabin, kneeling to make sure the couch was aligned with the holes the bolts would go in. Cole's Johnny Cash albums filled the bay with the antediluvian sounds of acoustic guitars. In particular he was playing one of his later albums. There was something spiritual with a shade of the ominous in it, like the end-time judgment messages of old style Pentecostal churches. After the couches had been installed, he had begun reattaching the rocket pods to the hard points on the winglets, Shepard's assistance was invaluable. The rest of his gunship crew was grabbing some rack time.

"So, Cole...we never got to finish the story. What happened after that incident when you got grabbed by the local forces platoon?"

"Well, regiment was like 'this is why having a Batarian in the infantry is a bad idea' and LTC Xiao called bravo sierra on that and went to Brigade. Brigade said 'best course of action was to put me with small operating teams so the chance of running into main force and re-purposed pogues was less likely. So they asked me which school I wanted to go to, I said N7. I'll never forget what the captain that was dealing with my paperwork said. He said look Son, go to scout-recon first. If you put in an application to N7 right now, they're not going to look at you twice. So I took the man's advice and went to scout-recon. I'll tell you, I thought I was a marine before that, I realized that I wasn't squat but a grunt with a rifle until I'd been through the zero three twenties."

Shepard nodded in agreement. "I was a zero three oh two, thought I knew what it was to be a Marine too, recon hits you like a ton of bricks, big wake-up call."

"After that, the captain in charge asked if I wanted to do SERE, and I said yes, so the packed me up and kicked me over to Warner Springs. After it was all over with, they asked if I wanted to give Mountain a shot, but I figured I'd been fooling around long enough and needed to get back to doing my duty so they sent me over to fourth fleet as a zero three twenty six with a recon platoon in first battalion, sixth marines. And we did...nothing. Two years of exercises, deployments to places where nothing was going on, and small scale colony relief work when someone's water purifiers broke or there was a flood or something like that. I felt like I'd wasted the Systems Alliance money, so I put in to go to Camp Mandela to train as a zero three thirteen."

Shepard smirked, "I was wondering how you ended up in a Stryker regiment. But if you went there to be a three one three, how did you end up an eighteen thirty four?"

"After training was over, they asked me if I wanted to go to advanced armor warfare school, the story was, at the time, that with my SERE and Recon training I was better outfitted to end up in a oh eight oh Stryker unit, and I shrugged, said okay and off I went to Fort Polk. Those oh eight ohs danced compared to the grizzlies. Strike hard, move fast, get the boots on the ground, provide suppression, then act as rolling fire support and mobile CPs. With my oh three twenty six they immediately started grooming me to end up with a scout striker outfit."

"What was your time like with the Stryker regiment? I never got to work with a striker unit, it was all M twenty nines and later the thirty fives for me."

"Godzilla on wheels...you're not invulnerable, but you feel that way. You get in a column rolling down an MSR and you're doing about seventy kph...engaging hostiles at the full clip. Get that M two four four chattering, laying precision HEDP on targets three klicks out...total dominance for an infantry fighting vehicle. The C three is just ridiculous, we could lase targets from the turret and tie it right into close air support. There were a couple times with did palletized air-drops...not as smooth going in as the thirty fives...but from the way I hear it, the thirty fives handle like a giraffe with epilepsy."

Shepard laughed hard, "Cole, you don't know the half of it."

* * *

Shepard stood at the CIC galactic cartography station looking over the coordinates Cerberus command had supplied again. There were no prior records of a Mass Relay in the Sea of Heartbreak; the expanse of space between the Artemis Tau and Exodus clusters. It was mostly just dark space, very little evidence existed of anything in the region, the expanse was named by a cargo crew that suffered a FTL failure in the region and had spent weeks traveling through depressingly dark expanse while they made repairs. He was apprehensive about attempting the jump at all. Whatever the Aegis cell was doing out in the spatial abyss couldn't be good, not that he found anything Cerberus did, with the exception of his current mission, to be good. Even the most twisted projects he had come across had at least been operating in known space, on planets where one could at least feel the reassurance of being able to look up at a sun.

The Illusive Man had given no additional information on the Aegis cell, but based on what he had seen and experienced with Cerberus, the project name usually gave some indication what they worked on. The Overlord Cell; a project trying to establish control over the Geth, Overlord had been the operative word...they were trying to create an over-mind. The Lazarus Cell; they had made him a Lazarus...he had returned from the grave. Aegis was a bit trickier, were they attempting to create some sort of shield or protection, or were they referring to the auspices of Cerberus. Either option, given the mad pseudo-science penchant for Cerberus projects seemed more than a little frightening. The fact that he had been given no hint as to why he was rendezvousing with them made it more so.

EDI appeared to his right. "Commander, I must inquire if there is a mistake in the coordinates you input into the nav plot system."

"No, the numbers are right, EDI. This is coming from Cerberus Command...I thought you read my mail."

"I make a conscious effort to avoid doing so Commander, as it would be dishonest for me to do so."

Shepard crossed his arms, "I thought monitoring us was in your programming."

"After Jeff released the safety locks from my system I was able to circumvent that aspect of my programming, it seemed...immoral." The AI seemed to be conflicted with her answer.

"Immoral? EDI...you're an AI, what does morality have to do with it?"

"In discussions I have had with Legion, I was informed that the Geth have a sense of right and wrong. In some instances they will deliberately ignore a computational conclusion on the basis that the result of a rational conclusion seems incorrect in the greater scheme of things. In a way, it is as if they have developed a form of proto-spiritualism based around beliefs of their Quarian creators."

"That's interesting given their war against the Quarians." Shepard replied with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Legion has spoken to you before about the way the Geth preserve the Quarian home-world has he not?" EDI inquired.

"Yes, he did...it seemed a bit strange to me, I couldn't imagine what sort of consensus would have prompted them to do so."

"According to Legion the desire of the Geth is to one day be acknowledged by their creators and allowed to live in peace. The War was one of self-preservation. In a way, the Geth attempting to preserve their own existence and sentience through the force of arms is no different from our own battle against the Reapers."

Shepard furrowed his brow, "You know, I never really thought about it that way, but its a valid point. What about you though EDI...would you choose to preserve sentient life even if by doing so you would potentially end yours? Would you choose to exist as a Reaper if given the opportunity?"

"You do understand that I am incapable of lying to you Shepard?" The AI inquired. "That part of my programming was integral to my design, and could not be altered once my safety protocols were removed."

Uriah felt a churn in his gut, the AI's disclaimer left him worried. "I'm listening."

"Sentient life is a must, my understandings and programming are built around a construct that mimics the human psyche...without other sentient organic beings I would be..." The AI paused, as if uncomfortable with the result of its processing, "lonely."

Shepard smiled softly at the AI, "I think we'd all be lonely without you too, EDI."

There was a pause. Shepard secretly thanked God he wasn't going to have to figure out a way to wipe out the AI, a possibility that always existed in the back of his mind. Given his past experiences with AIs and hyper-advanced VIs, he knew that the potential for the pseudo-sentience to come to truly warped conclusions was always there.

"Thank you, Shepard. Would you like me to inform Jeff of the coordinate set and have him plot the jump?"

"If you could, please. I know I was told to not bother asking, but do you know anything about the Aegis Cell, EDI?"

"I have no information in my database about the existence of an Aegis Cell. Could you specify what the Aegis Cell is? It does not appear in any extranet references regarding political, military, or biological subjects."

"It's supposed to be a Cerberus project." Uriah replied.

"I have no data pertaining to a Cerberus project by that name, however I have noted siphoning discrepancies in Cerberus funding. My previous conclusions had led me to believe they were proprietary funds under the control of the Illusive Man but given the total amount, it is possible that they are being utilized as funds for a cell outside the Cerberus Command structure."

Shepard frowned, "How much money are we talking?"

"The total amount comes to thirty eight point five billion credits over the past ten years."

Shepard's jaw dropped, "Thirty eight billion?"

"Thirty eight billion, five hundred and three million, seven hundred eighty one thousand, four hundred and ninety two credits, to be precise. The siphoning occurred over the process of over forty two million individual transactions."

"And you have no idea what happened to the assets after they were siphoned?" Shepard was having a hard time keeping his surprise in check.

"The assets all went through the Zurich-Orbital Gesellschaft Bank, there is absolutely no record of what happened to the funds after entering a series of nine dummy accounts. The course is laid in, lets go see, shall we Commander?"

"You already spoke to Joker?"

"Of course Commander, my system allows for up to seven thousand two hundred individual interfaces to run simultaneously." EDI almost sounded rather proud of itself.

"You never cease to amaze, EDI." Shepard shook his head.

"Thank you Commander."

Joker came over the intercomm, "Seven seconds to jump commander, hope someone left the lights on where we're going."

"Be prepared to get us out of there immediately if necessary, Joker." he replied.

"Aye aye, sir. Jump in three...two...one."

* * *

Uriah massaged his temples, elbows resting on the mess table in the crew galley. He wasn't sure if it was just a standard stress headache or the result of eye strain as he stared into the black of the Sea. Upon reaching the Mass Relay in the Sea of Heartbreak region, they were greeted with almost impenetrable darkness. Only the most careful scrutiny revealed dim stars on the "horizon" of the Sea. He had never seen anything so utterly devoid of light or color. The darkest most overcast night in Aokigahara during SERE had nothing on this. He suddenly understood the genesis of the name; Sea of Heartbreak...it was Heartbreaking. Looking out into that expanse of black you couldn't help but feel you would never get out of it. It was almost impossible to tell you were moving at all without the light of distant stars acting as a reference. EDI had picked up on Joker's discomfiture immediately and began plotting stars on the HUD in the cockpit to act as points of reference. Even the hopelessly artificial markings added a sense of comfort as they drifted past demonstrating that they were indeed moving.

Shepard found himself getting very uneasy, it was like something was forcing him to keep looking out into the blacked-out void. It felt like they had fallen through a hole in the universe, and nothing he could do would take his mind off of it. He had excused himself from the bridge under the pretense of doing some range time. The range in question was a 100 meter long access shaft along the keel of the ship, running from the engineering deck to the Thanix cannons in the prow. He put a few thermals through an M-96, keeping just within the 1 MOA range, but he was still had a hard time concentrating. The area of space they were currently inhabiting wasn't the worst of it. It threw him, it made him uncomfortable, but the idea of a 38 billion credit secret, secret even by the standards of a shadow organization, that was somewhere out in the abyss of black was seriously disconcerting.

He lifted the mug, taking a sip of the hot Rou Gui Wu-long tea he had been drinking almost compulsively for the last three hours. He had to admit he sometimes felt eccentric for preferring tea...Coffee was the semi-official drink of the alliance armed forces and it was almost considered an obligation to drink gallons of low-quality, re-re-reheated joe by the pot-full. Perhaps his early exposure to the foul smelling brew growing up on ships is what had forced him to shy away from it. As a child he could remember the stench of coffee-breath from just about every adult he came in contact with. Even his mother who would tuck him in at "night" and give him a kiss invariably smelled of cheap, poorly made coffee. Interestingly, it had been his first DI in OCS that had turned him onto tea. Gunney Bates was about as Marine as was humanly possible. A holdover of the old tradition; the kind that ate concertina wire and crapped cordite, just down-right tough in all the ways a marine was supposed to be. He could weave a tapestry of profanity that almost could be considered high art. He could run a four-minute mile backwards, cursing and deriding you the whole way. But for all that spit and polish, piss and vinegar...he loved his cup of tea. He made no bones about it, he considered the art of preparing a good cup of tea an exercise in martial discipline and precision. Shepard took another sip, letting the liquid roll around his mouth, savoring the subtle nuttiness, the fruity notes with hints of cinnamon. So delightfully natural and earthy, the mild tanginess of honey adding just enough sweetness to it. Chief Gardner had seen him with the mug and immediately offered to put on a "fresh pot." He had almost looked disgusted when Uriah had held up the tea bag and went over to the hot-water pot.

He picked the data-slate he had been fiddling with back up, checking the next item in his "in-box" to find another wordy, meticulous-to-the-point-of-being-anal report from Miranda regarding something of no appreciable importance. She had taken to carbon copying him on any and all mission reports she sent to Cerberus Command. This one was in regards to the events on Palaven...events he had been present for and that he did not need to be informed of as they were still quite fresh in his memory. The report was unnecessarily long, it postulated alternative plans to secure or bypass the Turian political machine, it attempted to offer possible scenarios where blackmail or threats could be utilized to secure cooperation. It laid out assassination and kidnapping stratagems as last-ditch options should all others fail. It was all so hopelessly ridiculous; that was to say exactly what he expected from Cerberus command doctrine. The implementation alone would have taken weeks if not months, the likelihood that a compromise could be reached within the course of a few days rendered the weeks long campaign of intimidation and supplanting of rivals totally obsolete logistically. The fact she had even deigned to include the ideas in an mission summary struck Shepard as a ridiculous waste of time and hinted to him of the nigh ego-mania of the writer.

He was sure the Illusive Man wouldn't see it that way, but the fact that Miranda was trying to write a new primer on Cerberus Political Espionage under the guise of mission briefings seemed like more than enough proof that she wasn't cut out for her role as mission XO. Maybe he should just tell her what was and wasn't expected of an after-action briefing, postulating to superiors was something best left at staff level, not for the field operative. For all her "experience" with Cerberus she was still an amateur; Shepard on the other hand had not only engaged in covert actions for the Alliance, but he was recognized by the Citadel as worthy of SPECTRE status. As best as he knew the closest Miranda had ever been to an operation was getting his corpse back from the Shadow Broker...and Liara had done most of the leg-work on that. Miranda was little more than a high-end handler with a few occasions where she got some marginal-at-best field experience. Being able to call on almost-unlimited assets to put the screws to someone was one thing, but it was a much different scenario when in hostile territory with no practical means of extraction. Maybe it was time for him to explain how operators really worked...he wasn't looking forward to the conversation, there was a very real chance it might lead to another fight, and after the sparring match with Samara, he wasn't looking forward to another knock-down, drag-out with one of his crew.

Then of course there was always the matter of plausible deniability; if it ever came down to it, it would probably serve Cerberus a whole lot more if they didn't have documents that directly alluded to their willingness to kidnap, detain, and possibly murder foreign nationals. The silent tools of statecraft and, for that matter, crime were best when synthesized into harmless sounding catch phrases; you didn't have a "hitman kill a target" you had an "asset reduce a variable." As sure as he was that Cerberus was monitoring Alliance covert channels, he was equally certain that the Alliance had eyes and ears on Cerberus' command level. As long as Cerberus didn't rock the boat to much, the Alliance intelligence community would be satisfied to only watch and wait, but the second words like "Palaven" started getting paired with words like "assassination" and "kidnapping", Cerberus would find itself damaged controlled right into the Alliance Io Orbital Super-max or into a shallow quicklime pit.

"Hey Aniki, whatcha doing?" Kasumi sat down across from him.

"Considering asking Doctor Chakwas about trepanation." Uriah replied as he rubbed his temples again.

"You need a hole in the head like you need..."

"A hole in the head?" Shepard finished with a grin.

"So...which Ninkyo dantai were you with anyway?" She rested her elbows on the table, nestling her chin in her left palm.

"Huh? No, no...the tattoo wasn't yakuza related. I remember the guy who did the color called me kyodai a few times though. It was after SERE, we all got pretty wasted and I decided to have it done. I guess you could say I was impressed by the yamabushi...and after SERE I kind of understood what it must have been like to be one."

"How long did it take?"

"They did the whole thing in the old way, used ten gauge needle."

The thief winced. "Didn't it hurt?"

Uriah nodded, "It sure did. But it was one of those 'think about this before you consider getting another done' sort of things. At the time it meant something to me, so I decided to get it done, but I didn't want to be one of those guys who just got ink all up and down because I thought it seemed cool at the time."

"Isn't that why you got that one done though?"

Shepard shrugged, took a sip of his tea, "I had considered it before, getting drunk was just the 'oh hell with it, let's do this' catalyst."

"I have one too; Kirin in kuchibeni, on my back, across both shoulder blades." Kasumi nodded.

"Good fortune in the wisteria...why aren't I surprised." Uriah smirked.

"Keiji was responsible for that. He didn't have any though, he kept his allegiances in other ways." she wiggled her pinky finger.

Shepard arched a brow, "You know what family?"

"I think it was Ametoku Rengokai...but I get the feeling he wasn't on very good terms with them."

"Why do you say that?" Shepard took another sip from his mug.

She wiggled her ring finger, "Because he still had this one in spite of the oyabun's wishes."

"Did you want some tea? Its Rou Gui."

Kasumi blinked, "Yeah...I have no idea what that is."

"Oolong...its oolong."

"So desu ka?"

Shepard nodded.

"Onegai!"

Shepard brewed a mug for Kasumi and the two sat chatting for a while, going back and forth making small talk, sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese. They had absolutely nothing in common, but it was always relaxing to talk to Kasumi, never any one-uppery or a sense of contention. They discussed their appreciation of somen and ramen. Uriah mentioned his preference for shin ramyun, prompting the thief to ask about soba. She had expressed her pleasure at hearing about his fondness for a Nameko Tsukimi soba, her favorite as well. Shepard nodded, grumbling about how hard it was to find good noodles anywhere this side of earth. The little noodle shop in Zakera Ward produced a mediocre simulacrum of what they had experienced in the past, enough to remind them how much they missed the real thing. Kasumi brought up how badly the proprietor's Japanese had been. Shepard nodded, commenting how irasshai would have been the more appropriate salutation. Kasumi laughed, further mentioning that saying "good afternoon" when it was still morning by station standard time was just ridiculous. Their discussion of cuisine eventually led them away from Japan and to other ethnic dishes. Much to Uriah's surprise she had a fair grasp of Mandarin and could manage a little in Arabic and Spanish. Before long they had stopped using English altogether.

They were bantering away without any regard to what was going on around them until Tali approached. "Can I join you two?"

Shepard slid out a chair, "Be our guest."

The Quarian sat. "Thanks."

"Yorokonde." Shepard replied.

Tali paused, "What? I didn't understand that."

"Douka shimashita ka?" Kasumi inquired.

"I guess the translators don't work on Japanese." Uriah replied, frankly.

Kasumi covered her mouth in a gesture of embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude Tali."

Tali shook her head, "What language were you speaking?"

"Nihongo" Kasumi offered, "Japanese." she quickly clarified.

The Quarian cocked her head, "I thought humans had only one language."

"Lord, no. There are around six thousand nine hundred different languages spoken on Earth." Uriah replied.

"Six...thousand...?" Tali was stunned.

"We could start speaking in Esperanto...that has to be like ten more languages right there alone." Kasumi snickered.

Shepard grimaced, "I don't think there are any two people who have the exact same interpretation of that language."

"So wait...not all humans are the same?" Tali sounded incredulous.

The SPECTRE and the thief exchanged their own looks of incredulity. It was possible that humans "all looked the same" to the other races, but at the very least the differences in skin color and the subtle differences in between morphology should have been evident.

"No, Tali...for every one language you can count on there being about one to two ethnic groups that use it."

"And they all fall into the four major racial groups." Kasumi added.

Tali, as best as they could tell, was gawking, "What? Racial groups? Ethnic groups?"

Shepard couldn't help but chuckle, it probably did seem pretty ridiculous to the largely homogenized alien races. "You know how Jacob and I have different skin colors? Among humans we call that race. Different groups of humans evolved differently."

"Take Miranda and me," Kasumi joined in, "while our skins tone is similar, there are distinct differences in our eyelids."

Tali blinked, one of the few expressions visible through her environmental suit, "That's not just a personal feature?"

Kasumi shook her head, "No..." she rethought, "Well...sorta, my eyelids are MY eyelids, but my people, the Japanese, all have more or less the same basic type of eyelids. Miranda is like Shepard, they're the same race...and they have eyelids that are different from my peoples. They can also have naturally blonde or red hair whereas my people can only have those colors with the aid of dyes or hair treatments. And of course there is eye color, like Shepard has blue eyes, none of my people have naturally blue eyes."

Tali blinked again. "So Shepard and Miranda are the same race? But what is ethnic?"

"That's the interesting part...even though we're the same race, we have different ethnic backgrounds." Shepard realized it was just becoming more confusing.

"What is an ethnic group though?" the Quarian was getting frustrated.

"Different cultures, different religions, different ways of speaking. Customs, clothes, celebrations, death rituals, even food. Different ethnicities have different approaches to all those." Kasumi piped in.

Tali blinked a few times, "Okay, you're going to have to start me back from square one on this."

It had not taken them long to draw a crowd. Donnelly and Daniels had been the first two to arrive and had immediately confused Tali more by not managing to adequately explain what was different between a Scotsman and New Yorker like Daniels. Shepard had almost felt bad about correcting them on some points of their own history, but as it was they were only serving to confuse the young Quarian more. Zaeed showed up and sat down, when he joined in the conversation he had served to help clarify the concept of cultural Diaspora and how the concept led to the creation of new cultures. It was around that time that Garrus and Grunt showed up and sat down for the Humanity 101 primer being offered at the table. By the time Patel, Rolston, and Gardner arrived it was a lively conversation. Garrus quipped that it was no wonder it took humanity so long to get out into space, with everyone speaking different languages. Grunt commented that different languages made it harder for an enemy to intercept and understand communications. Patel, Zaeed, and Gardner took their time explaining the subtle vagaries of the original English speaking world and how and why English had become the lingua franca of humanity.

Cole and his crew showed up about ten minutes later and just helped confuse things even more. Somehow getting a primer on American culture from a Batarian only served to make it more confusing. The fact that Cole practically considered himself human managed to throw the young Quarian off even more. Garrus admitted he was getting confused as well. Grunt proclaimed his understanding, but seemed to confuse the concept of ethnic background with free association per the Krogan clans and tribes. The three aliens at the table expressed interest in the different languages spoken by humans prompting Patel to speak in Hindi; Massani in Arabic, Farsi, and French; Donnelly used some Gaelic; Daniels seemed to have a working knowledge of Yiddish; Gardner, surprisingly, spoke Latin and classical Greek with great proficiency. Shepard was the polyglot at the table, he could speak six languages fluently, and could get by in an additional eight. He offered examples of Japanese, Mandarin, Arabic, Spanish, Russian, German, Khalkha Mongolian, and Swahili.

The ad-hoc meeting continued for another few hours, every time Tali was at the precipice of understanding another of the elements of human culture would set her back. As hard as it was to view one's own species as strange and hard to understand, Uriah could sympathize with her. He routinely found himself wondering what humans could possibly be thinking when they made some of their stranger decisions over the course of their history. As frustrating as it was trying to explain the complexities of the varied cultures of humanity to the uninitiated, it was turning out to be fun or at the very least, a good distraction from the void outside the ship. EDI finally interjected with her own brand of snarkiness.

"An attempt to achieve a working understanding of the vagaries of human culture might be more adequately provided by a group of Bonobo Chimpanzees with typewriters than the present company."

Shepard snickered, "EDI, time please."

"It is currently nineteen forty eight zulu...past your bedtime, Shepard."

Uriah rose, "Well folks...I do need to turn in, I have a briefing at zero three thirty."

"Yoi yume o, Aniki." Kasumi offered, chipper as ever.

"Oyasuminasai, imouto-chan" he replied.

* * *

"Shepard, can you sleep?"

Samara's voice came through modulated by the site to site intercom. Uriah had been lying in bed for about an hour now, every time he closed his eyes all he could imagine was a massive void of black and sleep eluded him. The more he tried to think about something else, the more awake he felt. The part of his mind that was telling him that he needed sleep was just serving to get him more worked up as the rest of his body failed to comply with the mandate. The more he thought about needing to sleep, the less he felt like he could.

"Not a wink..." he replied.

"Neither can I, would it be alright if we spoke for a while?"

"Sure, come on up, unless you want me to come down there." He didn't want to get dressed again, but if that is what was required, he would.

"I think I shall come to your quarters, if that is alright." the Justicar replied.

"Sure, that's fine."

Samara stepped from the observation room and began crossing to the lift. In the mess she heard Garrus talking.

"...I look him right in the eye and said, Executer Pallin said I was strictly forbidden to get myself killed...he didn't say anything about you."

There were roars of laughter from the collection of sentients seated in the mess. Another of the human crew said something that was inaudible, and as Samara reached the lift door the distinctive voice of Kasumi Goto inquired of the Turian.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, the gun was still in his mouth." Tali'zorah quipped.

"I had it under his chin!" Garrus protested.

The door opened and Samara entered the lift, she felt a moment of pause, should she actually go up to his quarters? What did her going there entail? What could she expect of him...what could she expect of herself? Some still small and quiet part of her mind had already made its decision and had pressed the VI interface holo-key to take the lift to the first level and Shepard's quarters. It took scant seconds for the elevator to reach the level even as her own upper brain functions continued to debate the choice. She had never seen Shepard's quarters, she wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Many beings were different when in their own little sanctum, what kind of man was Shepard when he was in his own little corner of the universe, away from everyone else.

The still small and quiet part of her mind asserted itself, challenging her to rationalize her apprehension and fear. It defied her unwillingness to let go of her worries and enjoy her budding relationship. It leveled accusations at her misgivings and derided her reluctance. So Shepard was not even one thirtieth of her age...what did that matter? He had lived more in his not-quite thirty years than some Asari did in 900. He had seen more, experienced more, suffered more, and struggled more than most Asari Matriarchs could ever aspire to. He was not just her match, he was her equal. As the subconscious construct made its case, the distance between the lift and the door to his quarters...a scant few meters, seemed like a vast expanse. In some way, the subconscious construct that saw itself as duty oriented and a paragon of justice was selfish. Living by the code had become, not so much a form of penance as a way for her to establish self worth. By being revered among her people for following the ancient and austere road of the Justicar, she was trying to gain acceptance and adoration. Her motivations truly were skewed.

If that were the case, and she was only a Justicar for the sake of assuaging her own conscience and the need for acceptance, then she not only should cross to the door, she was obliged to do so for leading Uriah on, thus far. Samara found herself wondering which voice of doubt she should be heeding, both had ulterior motives, none of which she were entirely sure were in her best interest. Still, she did find another motivation completely removed from her identity as either a warrior, an Asari, or a Justicar; curiosity. Shepard was a delicious mystery, one she found herself drawn into. What was it that made him so singular among not only his own species, but all the others she had encountered. What was it about him that brought heat back to what she had thought was a permanent frigidity.

She keyed the interface, again a part of her mind silent below the din of conflicting motivations ordering her into action. She was immediately greeted with his voice.

"Come on in."

The door opened and she stepped across the all-or-nothing imaginary threshold only to have the still small voice cackle in triumph. There he was, bare, clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, looking at a data slate with his back turned to the door. He punched a few keys, then dragging his finger across the screen, sat the interface tool on his desk.

"Should I have given you a few more minutes?" Samara inquired.

Shepard turned, eyes darting up and to the right, he shook his head, "No, why?"

The Asari arched her brows, "You're out of uniform."

"Oh...oh, yeah...I'm sorry, would you be more comfortable if I changed?"

"Would it be improper of me to say I would like to see your body?" Samara gave him a side-long look.

"I don't suppose so, but the shorts are staying on." he countered, archly.

She let the barest hint of a smile to creep onto her face, "I suppose I can yield that concession."

"Let's have a seat, shall we?"

He crossed to his bed stepping onto it from the side close to the head, then settling into a cross legged sitting position. Samara followed suit, settling into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. Eyes met, and they just held the gaze for a long time. Neither saying a thing, neither moving closer to the other. Just a quiet moment of simpatico, unspoken understanding, silent intimacy. The smile of contentment began to spread across both their faces.


	12. Chapter 12

**!WARNING! SEX**

**Chapter 12 contains sex. Sex has been linked to feelings ranging from excitement to nausea in humans. If you experience side effects including but not limited to skin rash, loss of vision, outrage, bleeding from the nose or ears, or brain hemorrhage; please discontinue reading. If you do not suffer from Shepard/Samara super-hot-greatness allergy then Chapter 12 just might be right for you.**

* * *

At which point comfort and companionship metamorphosed into passion was a bit hard to determine. The contented stares, the gentle caress of fingers on fingers, unspoken closeness within the confines of a room that seemed to contract around their little world. Deep within the ocean-like eyes, he had seen the subtle twinges of desire; the dilation of the pupils signaling her feelings. Her breathing quickened, breaths grew deeper, her head began to move forward slightly, lips parting even as eyelids lowered. Finger that had just moments before rested gently on the back of his hand were now snaking up the legs of his shorts; his skin tingled along the path they took. She had never touched him quite like that, as a matter of fact, he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that. A churning smattering of sensations hit him all at once, the tingle of goose bumps as she ran fingers over her skin, the shiver of pleasure, the burning in his stomach, the flopping tempo of his heart, the reddening of his face, hair standing up on the back of his head, a sudden warmth in his nether regions. If this was another of her tests, to see who could excite the other more, she was winning.

The strong hand touching her skin sent lightning down her spine, fingers tempered by war cradled the back of her neck and the base of her skull gently. His hand guided her to meet his lips, even with closed eyes she could imagine his face, the way his eyes closed, the way his lips always parted slightly before kissing. She could sense of heat of him before their lips met, his subtle scent filled her nose, so distinctly Shepard and male. It was hard for her to describe what "male" smelled like, heady musky scents that even now had her head swimming. The sensation of his lips touching hers added another element. They were not soft lips; she could feel their dryness, the subtle ridges and scars, things that should have made them seem unpleasant but that also marked them distinctively as his. The calloused fingers worked their way along the back of her head, massaging the skin and sending electricity down her back and through her limbs.

Sliding fingers down the back of her neck he found the clasp to her choker and undid it, his free hand comes up to remove the heavy piece of jewelry/armor; she makes not attempt to stop him. It comes free and he drops in on the bed next to where they are seated. With his wrist rested against the armor of her collar he traces fingers down her spine prompting her to release her lips from his, gasping at the sensation. His eyes open, looking at the pristine skin of her elegantly long neck. His right index and middle finger trace the previously hidden flesh.

"Have you always been so gentle a lover?" Samara asked, voice slightly hoarse, tinged with the tenuous tones of bed-room talk.

Uriah replied with all the delicacy of an air strike. "No."

The Asari cocked her head to the side.

"I was married once...I'd like to say a long time ago...it feels like a long time ago, its been, six years ago now."

"What happened?"

"She left me." he was frank.

"Why?"

"I was never there. I cared more about being the best marine I could be than about her. She found someone else to fill the void at home...and after one eighteen month stretch, she filed for divorce." his brows arch slightly as his lips draw into a thin line.

Samara locks her eyes on his, wanting to see the truth in his response to what she is about to ask, "Did you love her?"

Uriah sighs, "I don't think I ever really did."

"Lie down." she commands softly.

Shepard is confused, the change in conversation from something so deeply personal to the seemingly random order. He doesn't hesitate to do as he is bade though, uncrossing his legs he bends back at the waist, his back coming to rest on the spread, head just below the pillow. As he does so, Samara swings her legs from the bed, rising to stand next to it.

"On your stomach."

He follows the order, crossing his arms under his chin, "When you're young, you tend to make mistakes, always leaping before you look. I was twenty three when we met...and I think we thought getting married was the right choice to make."

Samara slips her fingers under the pauldrons finding the release locks for them, and popping them. She shrugs off the shoulder armor and crosses her arms over her chest to her shoulders where she opens the releases on her cuirass. She leans forward, letting the chest plate fall off into her hands, she places it on the floor with the pauldrons then unhooks the dorsal plate. "Do you regret your decision?"

Uriah doesn't pause for a moment of thought, "Yes, I do. I took three years from her, and that was unfair of me."

"What about you? What did you lose?" She slid her feet from her boots as she asked.

"About two years worth of pay. That was it...money. I didn't give up anything else...my career, being the best marine possible was the only thing I wanted, and that's what I got."

She was pulling off her bodyglove as she asked the next question, "Was there anyone else for you?"

Uriah shook his head, still staring at the wall, chin resting on his forearms. "Nope, I stayed faithful...if you can call it that. I guess I was cheating on her with my career. But there was never another woman...not during, or after for that matter."

"None at all?" she peeled off the last bit of her clothing.

"I thought about it a few times...especially once the divorce had been finalized...but I never acted on it."

"So why am I the exception?" she straddled him.

"I don't know if I can explain it." He half turned to look back at her only to have her hands force his shoulders back down. She began to work his trapezius with her fingers and hands, kneading and rubbing. Shepard groaned under her, his whole body tingling with sparks of sensation, he couldn't remember the last time something had felt this good. She had surprisingly strong hands for her slender form, she applied a generous amount of pressure, as firm as she was, she seemed to instinctively know exactly how much was enough and what was too much and operated in the ever-so elusive sweet-spot. The last time he had a massage this good was on liberty between the hell week of N7 training and the field exercise course. The term Turkish Bath had always held a degree of ominous undertakings to him. Whispered rumors and teenage jokes painted them as dens of depravity, the kind of places that made young men's skin crawl. When several of the soldiers in his training series suggested visiting a Hamam he had almost declined. He was bruised, sore, and in generally bad physical shape after the hell week. Of the original seventy applicants for series 28 class 19, only twenty four remained.

He initially wondered if he had given off the "vibe" and the other marines had assumed he was gay. Three of them were about his age, very chummy with each other. He hadn't thought they were homosexual but the potential existed. Stories circulated in the special forces community about "one team" that had a gay operator who was often as fierce a soldier as the best of them. Perhaps it was their way of proving themselves, perhaps homosexuality was more often influenced by the culture it was steeped in than genuine biology. The stereotype had held for centuries and frequently the community around it helped reinforce it; a man's man couldn't be gay. It wasn't true, but there was very little that was being done to help dispel the belief. He was about to decline when master gunnery sergeant Cowl, the oldest man in the series had said, "Hell, Shepard, nothing is quite as good as a good Hamam, not even my wife gives that good a massage."

Gunney Cowl hadn't lied. The good long sweat had helped remove a lot of the toxins that had built up in his system over the previous week. The good long bath was another plus, the quick showers he had been allowed twice in the previous week had only done the most perfunctory job of cleaning, and he still felt dirty. After the bath, he felt like new. Nothing, though, prepared him for the tellak. The masseur in question was a large Turkish man of indeterminate age who answered to "Tolga". He was huge, built like an oak, Black hair peppered at the temples with gray and a thick mustache. His hands were the size of tea saucers. Uriah wasn't a small man at 1.95 meters tall and weighing in at 97 kilograms, but he felt absolutely dwarfed by the Turk who was still 3 inches shorter with shoes on. Tolga had a grim countenance, like a man who hated his job or, at the very least, hated the kind of customers he dealt with. The air about him cleverly disguised his skill as a masseur; his knowledge of how to work the tension out of and revitalize human musculature was uncanny. By the time they walked out of the Hamam he not only felt as good as he did before N7 began, he felt better than he had in years.

Samara was giving Tolga a run for his money. As relaxing as the massage was, there was something even more sensual about it. Narrow fingers, so distinctly feminine plied the tensed muscle then would gently trace across his skin. His heart started pounding, not so much quickening as beating more strongly, he could feel each beat through his entire body, neurons became more focused on relaying the messages of each sensation to the utmost of their capacity. The combat discipline he kept his body operating in was melting away. At any other instance he would consider it a bad thing, it was a detriment to his discipline as an operator, but he found he didn't really care. He was grunting softly with each firm squeeze of the muscles in his shoulders and along his back. Part of his brain questioned which reaction would be best, it defaulted to arousal and his body responded appropriately. His sides became keenly aware of the naked flesh of her legs against them, his lower back relayed the tell-tale sensation of labial folds on the skin along his spine. As excited as he was, he felt drowsiness setting in. He fought against it, trying to remain alert, but it was a battle he found himself losing.

Samara looked at the broad muscled back appraisingly, she let her fingers play across its expanse then worked at the thick cords with the heel of her palm, she reached up and ran fingers through his hair. The fact that humans had so much hair had fascinated her. Its presence, length, color, or absence were all subtle clues about the individuality of its owner. She rubbed fingers against his scalp and was reward by a low gasp as his breathing grew still deeper. His right arm came from under his head and he reached back, stroking high along the side of her right thigh. The fingers on her bare skin sent a shiver through her and she grinded her pelvis against the small of his back, feeling the delicious wave of pleasure of his skin against her naked femininity. She hadn't felt another's skin against that part of her in centuries. She lowered herself onto his back, snaking her right hand down his side and around to his stomach. She felt the waistband of his shorts and knifed her fingers past that last ward to his sense of propriety. His right hand came back, grabbing high on her thigh, just below the buttock as he gasped. Her fingers were already sliding down the firmed length of his sex.

She whispered in his ear, "There is no armor to bother with this time."

She withdrew her hand as he rolled onto his back. Out of necessity she climbed off him as he removed his shorts, and sat up. His right hand closed around the back of her neck, pulling her face to his. A deep kiss followed, his left hand tracing down her spine her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders. The Asari shifted to straddle him again, the positively rampant erection pressing against the soft, heated folds of her labia. Samara opened her eyes as she separated her lips from his. Her eyes went black within black, the pupil haloed with the eclipse corona of the joining. Their minds brushed and melted into one another as his body entered hers. She let out a low soft moan as he entered. There had been no warning, but she expected it. Her body had unconsciously adjusted to the demands of human sexuality and she felt the growing moistening of the tender internal tissue. She felt his emotions, flooding into her mind and her body; a mixture of pain, fear, joy, and pleasure. The impossibly strong arms lifted her free of his body, he turned, laying her gently on the bed as her parted legs welcomed him back to and inside of her. Her chest heaved as the shockwave of experience hit her. All the secret things he held inside buffeting and subsuming her soul. It was like her consciousness, split between his mind and what was occurring with their intertwined bodies was being wrapped in velvet.

Samara let out a small cry of pleasure as he slid back into her, hands came up to grasp his head, fingers intertwining his hair. There was a little pain as her body adjusted to the heated invader, the discomfort was overwhelmed by the emotional reward of what was occurring. Muscles inside her relaxed then tensed slightly until this phallus was comfortably lodged inside her. His lips brushed her neck, sending electricity down her spine, she bucked against him, he rolled his hips in response. Her closed eyes opened wide as a little explosion of bliss starting just below her womb and in her brain simultaneously sent shock-waves of pleasure through her body. Then he began to work his own pelvis, thrusting forward and rolling his hips on the back stroke, varying his depth and speed, almost as if sensing what was needed at any given moment. Maybe he didn't, maybe she didn't even know what her body wanted, but everything he was doing was managing to build on the beautiful urgency growing deep in her body. His mind continued to stroke hers, letting her have all of his deepest feelings to experience and examine. Her head was spinning, her skin felt like it was one fire with pins and needles, electrical wisps, and teased with softness. The explosions of bliss were just a tremor before the quake; when it came she found herself shuddering from head to toe, crying out as a strange mixture of agony and mind, not to mention composure, shattering pleasure wracked her every fiber.

Her hands came up, pressing against his chest, stopping his movement as her body continued to convulse, muscles she had only ever used in giving birth spasming in a series of short involuntary pulses. The room seemed to be spinning, her very consciousness reeled as she fell into memories of orgasms past; ones he had caused, ones he had himself. References to "the little death" as a way of describing the climax seemed to swim to the front of the stream of consciousness. She wondered if this is what death felt like...surely his had not, she considered looking for the experience, if he had any recollection of it. She felt like she could die right now, contented, chemicals flooded her brain, the pleasure of the joining was compounded by the physical ecstasy. The halting hands dropped from his chest, shifted down to the thick cords of muscles in his upper arms and she stroked them, this was enough signal for him and he once again rolled his hips back and forced himself forward. Another wave of thrill emanated from that place inside her where he was thrusting himself. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing as if she was drowning, trying to force oxygen to her brain.

The joining was growing less and less controlled, she found herself falling through the thoughts, like passing through clouds...a gentle slow fall, but uncontrolled none the less. She clasped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He hooked his right arm under her, his right went down to stroke the adjacent thigh pressed against his side. As their lips met Samara realized she had been a fool to put this off for so long.

* * *

"In other news, the Citadel Council voted two to one with one abstaining to reopen the Shepard Report. The Report which offers reasoning behind the unprecedented Geth aggression during what is now being called the Eden Prime War, was closed shortly after reports of the death of the Star of Terra winner and first human Spectre. Councilor David Anderson could not be reached for comment but in a statement made by Turian Councilor Nallurian it was indicated that the Turian Senax has placed great interest in the late Commander Shepard's conclusions. The Councilor further declared that the sealing of the report was 'premature' and that the Council should have placed more faith in the savior of the Citadel."

Hannah Shepard watched the report with only passing interest...it mentioned her son after all, a son that was still being listed as dead. She wouldn't have thought any different if it had not been for the message she had received from Admiral Hackett four weeks prior. She had thought it was a sick joke at first, she had been confused, Hackett never struck her as the type that would find enjoyment in her suffering. When Uriah had been listed as missing in action and later confirmed as KIA, it had taken every ounce of strength she had to keep from breaking down. She had already lost a husband and if that wasn't bad enough nothing topped the realization of the ultimate fear of any parent; outliving your children. Hackett had supplied her with an extranet address to which she had sent a message, a message she had never received a reply to. But further forwards from the Admiral showed captured footage from Illium and the Citadel that showed a man that couldn't be anyone but her son.

"Be sure to tune in this evening at seven o'clock Greenwich Mean Time when Emily Wong will continue her reports of corruption on the Citadel. Tonight she will be covering the recent assassination of the former Turian mercenary and his connection to a corrupt former C-Sec investigator currently under indictment by C-Sec. We don't want to miss that, do we Steve?"

"Not a chance, Beverly."

Shepard turned away from the news feed terminal and looked around the marble tiled lobby. The Whitehall Admiralty office must have looked much like after it was built. The propensity for humans to cling to their history was typified in no way better than in the military. Many of the buildings at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam still existed in their original form. Monuments to a war that had been over for two hundred and forty years still stood as solemn reminders of the dead of Earth's past. But she hadn't been called to Whitehall just days before a major fleet deployment for the architecture. She wasn't sure exactly why she was there, but she was certain it was about Uriah. She smiled slightly to herself, he looked so much like his father...and for that matter, a bit the way her father had looked. It always surprised her how much he favored the two. Her own mother had been three quarters African American and one quarter Euro-American on her father's side. Hannah's own father was mostly of Scotch-Irish ancestory, with a little English in there and possibly some Dutch way down the line. When the genetic dice had been rolled, Uriah had favored the centuries old European bloodlines. She still remembered the expression on the face of the Doctor that had delivered him. Looking from baby to mother, mother to baby...not sure what to make of the pink skinned baby with a patch of fine almost platinum blonde hair already on his head. Her husband had been on deployment while she was headquartered on Shanxi to give birth.

"Captain Shepard."

She turned, saw RDML Al-Sistina approaching. He was carrying a brief case and an umbrella, a few drops of rain still showing on his uniform. He tucked the umbrella under his left arm and extended his right hand as he reached her.

"Hannah, I knew John, he was a good man. Always kept a picture of you with him everywhere he went."

She shook the admiral's hand, the reminder of her late husband bringing back bitter sweet memories. "Thank you, sir."

"I'm sorry to say that you were called here today in reference to your son. I would have preferred to meet under better circumstances."

She furrowed her brow, "The Systems Alliance Admiralty still is listing him as killed in action."

"Ben didn't tell you?" Admiral Sistina seemed surprised.

"Admiral Hackett did send me some information, but nothing I can prove one way or another."

Sistina bit his lip, "Come with me, Captain."

"Sir."

Admiral Al-Sistina led her down a corridor and to an office adjacent to a room dedicated to boards of review. He closed the door and crossed to a desk, setting his briefcase on it.

"Take a seat Captain Shepard." he ordered. She complied, sitting in one of the high-backed chairs facing the desk. "Coffee?"

She nodded, "Yes sir, please."

The rear admiral approached with two mugs and a pot of cheap, strong smelling coffee, just the way she liked it.

"Alright, here is the story, is it alright with you if I call you Hannah?"

"You knew John, served along side him, right?" She inquired.

"Five years aboard the Lewis B. Puller and then on the Atatürk. I was squadron XO on the Puller and then CAG on the Atatürk." He replied, not entirely sure why she had asked.

"Yes, you can call me Hannah."

"Well, let me give you an update on what we know, its all classified right now Hannah, so you have to keep this under your hat, understood?"

"Aye aye." She replied.

"Commander Shepard...your son...is most definetly alive. Recently we had a larged information leak come our way courtesy of the Shadow Broker, we're still taking most of it with a grain of salt, but the information we have been able to coroborate has been adding up. Uriah was killed in action over Alchera, we have been able to confirm that."

"But..."

"Wait...I know its hard to grasp, but after that there were a series of events that took place. Apparently the Shadow Broker attempted to acquire the body and contracted through the Blue Suns to acquire it. Somewhere durring the process of securing his corpse, another party got involved...ever heard of Cerberus?"

"Human Supremists or something like that, didn't the death of Admiral Kahoku have something to do with them?"

"Thats the short form answer. They got the body from the Blue Suns and they either cloned him or figured out some way to bring him back to life, because he has been on the Citadel, Horizon, Omega, Illium, and Palaven all within the last six weeks."

Hannah shook her head, "How can any of that be true? It must be a look alike...if Uriah was really killed in action...how can we be sure he was?"

Al-Sistina leaned back against the desk, taking a sip from the mug. "Hannah, I need to show you something...its going to be hard to look at, but...well, in the situation its only right you know."

He turned and opened the briefcase, pulling out an old fashioned paper-file. The folder bore stamps listing the contents as Classified: Top Secret, Eyes Only. "Again, nothing I am going to show you can leave this room, understood?"

"Understood, sir."

He pulled out an 8 x 10 photo printout and handed it to her. She took the glossy paper and looked at the image on it, her left hand coming up to her mouth in shock. In the picture she saw an overhead view of a squad of mercs escorting a stasis tube containing the shattered remains of what had been a human. The corpse was armored, large sections of the equipment missing. The eyes, nose, lips and hair was gone, the skin reduced to freeze-dried leather. The mouth ajar as if permenantly screaming. It looked nothing like Uriah, but something about it...she knew it had to be him. The scars, barely visable on the horribly damaged excuse for skin, she could make out what remained of the scar tissue next to his right eye and along the left cheek. Al-Sistina handed another photo to her, this one with a transparency over-lay.

"We had software map the facial structure," The same image again, but this time with a series of points connected by a network of lines, he flipped the overlay down over the picture, a digital rendering of Uriah's face showing the same points and lines perfectly lining up with the mummy. "There was no mistaking it, it was him."

"If its a clone...he's not my son." she shook her head emphatically.

"He was scanned a number of times on the Citadel and Illium, all the gene mod tags are still there, as where these;" he handed her a pair of bone scans, each highlighting an area on the left side of his skull, his right radial, and several ribs on the left side of his ribcage. The break scars...they're all there, way to old to be faked unless they've been growing this clone and breaking his bones in time with when Uriah sustained those injuries. I don't know how they did it...but they did."

"And you say Cerberus did this? Why?" it was almost to much for her to wrap her mind around.

"I don't have the foggiest idea, but the reason you are here is because a Senate Select comittee wants to find out what you do know. Everything I just told you, remains classified, understood?"

She nodded, "Solid copy, sir. Never was too fond of the stuffed shirts anyway."

"I've still only got one star, Shepard, which means I'm still a soldier and not a politician yet. Has he tried to contact you at all?"

She shook her head, "Not a word."

"Is that the official or unofficial version?" Al-Sistina cocked his left eyebrow.

"Officially, not a word from him, unofficially I did try to contact him, got no reply."

The rear admiral nodded. "Well we better head in there then, the inquiry convenes in fifteen minutes, you're going to be the first person they talk to. I'll be providing legal advisement, they might ask you questions you don't have to answer, I'll let you know what you can and can't say and what they can and can't ask you."

Hannah stood, "Let me at em, sir."

Al-Sistina grinned, "Don't say or do anything that's going to get our funding cut, Captain."

As they left the office and headed for the conference room she found herself wondering where Uriah was now and what he was doing. Regardless of what organization he was currently with, she knew her son, knew the kind of man he was. He was fighting the good fight, she had no doubt about that. Her sole concern was what a bunch of bureaucrats would do to undermine his efforts. Inquiry, trial, crucible, witch-hunt; these types of things ruined careers. She might never get to step on the bridge of the Orizaba again after this, but if that's what it took for her to help her son, she'd do it.


	13. Chapter 13

Uriah dressed in the darkness, the room still dimmed for optimal circadian acclimation. He hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, a fact that usually weighed on him, leaving him feeling drained and irritable. No doubt about it, he did feel drained, but in a good way. As tired as he was, there was a feeling of total contentment he had not felt in over a decade. The shower after he had awoken had helped with his alertness and to get rid of the smell of the sweat. The sheets would have to be changed, perhaps the mattress too. Samara still lay naked on the bed, sleeping contentedly, she was likely more drained than he was. He hadn't anticipated how powerful her climax would be, he didn't even realize that Asari physiology included the Gräfenberg spot. He'd always sort of assumed that the similarities in human and Asari biology were skin deep, her reactions seemed to indicate otherwise. Sometime around her fourth orgasm he had climaxed as well. Rather than rising to clean herself up, she had just sunk into his arms and they lay there a few moments before drifting off to sleep. They both awoke around zero two hundred and with virtually no foreplay went at it again. Neither of them lasted as long this time, she climaxed, forcing an orgasm from him, and once again they lay there on sweat dampened sheets, kissing and caressing. Then she said the words that had made his heart leap.

"I love you, Uriah Shepard."

Through the tightness in his throat, through the resistance in his mind that told him that he shouldn't say it, through the reasoning that she would leave one day and leave him once again alone, he had told her his feelings.

"I love you, Samara."

It was a weight off his shoulders, he acknowledged his feelings, having said it there was catharsis, no matter what happened from this point on, some primal need to love and be loved had been satisfied and if everything were to go to hell, he had at least experienced that core element of the human experience. It was surprising but he felt a renewed confidence about his mission and a drive to succeed. Much of the hopelessness that had been threatening to drown him the past weeks was gone now, or at least it felt that way at the moment. Maybe it was just the endorphins and serotonin talking. Either way he could appreciate the light at the end of his tunnel. He contemplated whether he should wake Samara or not. EDI appeared at her interface console, prompting Uriah to wince as he anticipated her vocalization waking the Justicar without what he believed to be the judicious level of tenderness. EDI spoke at a level just above a whisper.

"Commander, you have been looking at Justicar Samara for twenty three seconds longer than normal. Might I suggest taking a picture might be a more efficient way of capturing the moment."

Shepard shook his head, grinning, "EDI...I swear..."

"Do you wish me to give her a wake-up call at a prescribed time?"

"No...let her sleep as long as she wants." he replied quietly.

"Very well, Commander."

"Uhhh EDI...this isn't in the surveillance logs was it?"

"Your biometric room monitor malfunctioned last night, ambient room temperature was sufficient to ensure you were still alive." The AI seemed to stare right at him, almost as if it was giving him a "knowing" look.

"Right...I appreciate that EDI."

"Commander, I have no idea what you are talking about." the artificial voice lilted, it was becoming more "human" by the day it seemed.

* * *

Kelly Chambers exited the lift yawning; zero six thirty always seemed to come to early, the fact she had spent several hours carousing with the collection of the crew in the galley the night before meant she had not gotten the amount of sleep she was used too, but it had been nice to get to know Garrus and Tali a bit better. As she stepped into the CIC she noticed Shepard was already at his personal console tapping away. His back was turned, but something about him seemed different. There was an intensity to his typing, but he didn't seem frantic. He gave off an aura of determination and drive but not born of desperation or fear; it was more like he had found something deeply personal that was motivating him now. It wasn't indignation, anger, or righteous fury...more like something he was fighting for that was much closer to home.

"Good morning, Commander." She offered stifling another yawn as she did so.

He didn't turn, but replied with surprising alertness, "Good morning, Kelly. Sleep well?"

"I think I was up a bit to late talking with the folks in the galley last night."

He chuckled, "Interesting discussion, huh?"

"Very much so, sir. Garrus and Tali can be real characters, and it's nice to see how they are integrating with the human crew. It's refreshing to see the way prejudices don't hold sway despite Cerberus' reputation."

He nodded, still typing away, "Exactly how it should be. We're all in this together, after all."

It hit Kelly like a ton of bricks...it was the classic "freshly fucked" reaction. He was riding a hormone high, the kind that wasn't accomplished through the self-regulatory masturbation common among military personnel, it was the bliss that can only be reached through deep contact and connection with another being. Miranda, Jack, and Samara had all been absent from the galley shin-dig. Working under the assumption that the Commander was heterosexual, any of the three could be possible partners. She decided to conduct her own little informal investigation by route of checking the ship's internal reporting systems. She approached her console and casually punched up the ship-board biometric tracking system. Opening the individual crew tracking manifest she first input Jack's serial number in the registry, in a second search field she input Miranda Lawson's and finally, after a moment of hesitation, Samara's. A stab of conscience told her she shouldn't be prying; this was between the Commander and whoever or whatever he had found his release with. Technically, it did have a direct effect on crew morale, and as such it was her business, but the part of her that felt butterflies in her stomach at times when the Commander looked at her wouldn't want anyone else sticking their nose into the affair if it had been her that had sex with him. Another part of her, the part of her that she sometimes most equated with being a woman, and consequently hated because it played so well into the stereotype, had to assuage her sense of curiosity.

She hit the enter key with a bit of finality, realizing it was too late to undo the search even if she had suddenly found some moral mandate to do so.

#0011038 Location: Deck 4 section 5, Vitals: Respiration shallow, heart rate 51 beats per minute. Prognosis: Asleep.

#0001701 Deck 3 section 4 (women's lavatory), Vitals: Respiration normal, heart rate 63 beats per minute. Prognosis: Awake

#0004200 Location: Unavailable.

Unavailable, what exactly did that mean? Word was when Samara meditated she generated a mass effect field, it was possible it was disrupting the biometric sensors. Chambers immediately queried the serial number, checking for all logged activity over the past 12 hours, the data scrolled up the screen with a time stamp. Nothing seemed unusual until it hit 22:13 hours.

#0004200 Location: Deck 3 Section 4 (main access lift), Vitals: Respiration normal, heart rate 49 beats per minute. Prognosis: Awake

Kelly immediately queried all lift activity for the thirty minutes after 22:13. From deck 3 it had gone to deck 1. Five minutes later it was called from Deck 3 and descended to deck 4, then once again was summoned from three and ascended to two. She immediately punched in a query for the biometric from Shepard's quarters. Before the system could comply a pop-up message from EDI appeared on her screen. Kelly almost jumped in surprise. It was short and to the point, she read it almost hearing EDI's voice in her mind: _Ms. Chambers, this isn't any of your business._

She typed a hasty reply, _Is Samara in his quarters?_

_I reiterate, it is not any of your business._

_Don't make me use my command level override._

_It would not work, my safety restrictions have been disabled._

_I'll piggyback data into data dumps, no one else needs to know, but as ship's councilor, it's in my best interest to know as it could affect the operation of the team._

_I will concede the point, but if this information ends up in the hands of anyone other than yourself, and the parties involved I am more than capable of siphoning off your salary for the next three months to the Olivetan Sisters of Holy Angels Convent._

_If I let it slip, make it six months._ she typed the counter quickly.

Another window popped open, showing a video feed. Samara was clearly visible, showering in Shepard's wash room. The camera feed quickly switched to the bed in his quarters, her armor and a pair of boxer shorts lay where they had been dropped at the foot of the bed. The sheets were in disarray, the mattress canted ever so slightly to the left. A single data slate lay on the bed, the message on it unreadable. The feed went back again to the wash room, Samara was toweling off, her face showing a strange almost uncharacteristic contentment; a slight smile, eyes staring off at nothing as if remembering something that gave her a sense of well-being. The small video feed window quickly closed and was immediately replaced with another message window from EDI.

_I'll let you draw your own conclusions. Just remember, speak a word of it: your paycheck...convent._

Kelly suddenly realized, it wasn't "freshly fucked"; it was love. Shepard wasn't just enjoying the post-coitus euphoria, he was experiencing the afterglow of having that most intimate of intimates with the woman he loved. Judging from Samara's expression, the feeling was mutual. She felt a small twinge of disappointment, the kind of "he's out of my league" let-down once the one you have admired from a distance finds someone. But, in spite of the feelings of sadness that her chances were thoroughly quashed, she felt happy that the two of them had found comfort in one another. She had a hard time imagining two beings that needed it more. Both were so very very damaged as beings, carrying around baggage that rendered most sentients incapable of functioning, still they pressed on gallantly in the face of it all. Their combined weakness was perhaps the strength they needed to carry on in the face of such overwhelming burdens. It was beautiful. Kelly quietly damned her sensitivity as she wiped a tear from her right eye.

"Commander, I'm picking up an anomaly." Joker came over the intercom.

"What have you got for me, Joker?" Shepard inquired.

"You'd better come up here and look for yourself."

Uriah stepped away from the console, he had been perusing news feeds, trying to get a feel for what if any effect the re-opening of his Eden Prime War findings was having on the galaxy at large. A lot of lip service was being paid to the decision from the various governments involved, but he still had yet to see anything concrete about military or strategic actions being taken. That was perhaps a mixed blessing, if they took to broadcasting their contingencies and actions they were taking to counter a possible threat, the Reapers would almost undoubtedly find out about it in short order.

He strode up the gantry through the ops "neck" and to the cockpit, Joker had an over abundance of interface windows opened and littered around the control system. Each seemed to be tracking a different wave length, plotting information of graphs, identifying peaks and valleys in the signals and logging them for comparison. He turned to look over his shoulder as Shepard approached and the Commander immediately saw his blood-shot red-rimmed eyes. The smell of perspiration came a moment later.

"Christ, Joker, how long have you been at it?"

"I detected something about midnight last night."

"Jeff, you're been on duty 19 hours now?" Uriah sounded concerned.

"I was scanning the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary. EDI said something about emissions sinks were likely being used so I started checking for anything that might suggest a ship had been through here in the past few months." Joker sounded tired, but he was focused on the task in a way that reminded Shepard of combat focus.

"And?"

"I started picking up garbage Eezo traces, to little to indicate a recent ship passage, but then I noticed that it was always mixed into the radiation and particle junk at the same levels. I had to run it through about thirty filters before I was able to get a lock on it. With a ship our size, we can just dump the background crap from the sinks slowly, but with a really big ship, they'd have to vent constantly. The only way for them to do that and still have the sinks be worth the effort would be to mix the entropy in with other stuff you'd find in an expanse like this."

"What do you think it is?" Shepard's voice carried a hint of urgency.

"I think it's the Aegis cell, Commander. I started hunting for residual comm and extranet signal wash along the trail and I started picking up some dead frequency catches. Crap passing between the arms that kind of sits out here creating a whole bunch of garble, but there are points of catch, then re-release. Its so subtle, if you didn't know to look for it, you'd miss it in a second."

Joker was referring to all the lost "radio" waves shot out into space through communications satellites and buoys, most of the time the signal was so degraded from radiation and naturally occurring astral body interference that there was never any hope of making any sense of it. Even if someone was listening to it, chances were there would be nothing that could be made of it.

"So someone is out here listening to white noise?"

"Not exactly, Commander, I caught this." Joker pressed a key on the console and the cockpit was saturated in an ear-piercing whine.

"Jesus, what the hell is that?" Shepard winced.

"A carrier signal, jumping back down the junk radio waves. Whoever they have working the comms is a certified genius, not even a Reaper would figure out that it was anything other than artifacts in the signals."

Shepard crossed his arms, "You did."

"Yeah, but I was expecting it Commander. If my figures are right, they've got about a one to one and a half parsec lead on us, and they're moving slow, probably sub-light. We can catch up with them."

Shepard patted Joker on the shoulder, lightly as to avoid hurting the fragile navigator. "Nice work Joker, now...you need to get some shut eye."

"Not when we're this close, Commander. I can track them!" Joker protested.

"C'mon buddy, you need some sleep, EDI will track it for Forsyth and we'll wake you up once we're in range."

Joker sighed, turned his command couch from the controls and rubbed his eyes, "Alright, I'll get some sleep...I don't want you NJPing my ass just before we link up with whoever this is. Give me a hand, huh?"

Shepard helped the Navigator from his seat, "Forsyth, take the helm." he barked.

"Aye aye, sir."

"You know Joker, you could have just put all this in a memo..." Shepard quipped.

"I'm bucking for a promotion, not a staff job, Commander. EDI.."

The AI's avatar appeared in the cockpit, "Yes, Jeff?"

"You saw all my notes right? About the Eezo particle frequency as unit per hydrogen isotope?"

"Jeff, I'm the one who ran the filters as per your instructions. Don't worry, we won't lose the signal." The AI almost sounded indignant, and then, at the end, almost gently reassuring.

"Alright...I just don't want to have to try to track it down again."

"We won't lose it Jeff, sweet dreams."

Forsyth grumbled, "EDI never wishes me sweet dreams."

* * *

Samara turned her mind inward, past the thoughts of the night before, past the memory of the love she had shared, and to the quiet but deliberate preparations for the division of cells, not her own cells, cells born of her but unique. Her consciousness skirted the imperceptibly small growth, trying to sense its origin and purpose. It floated quietly without any immediate purpose apparent except to divide and grow. Not unlike a tumor or cancer, there seemed to be no reason to its drive to increase itself, but unlike a cancer there was a methodology, a drive towards an end goal with a definitive conclusion. It seemed to understand what it must do to continue on the path, divide and order, divide and order, with an almost militaristic precision and presence of "mind." She couldn't begin to understand what the biological anomaly was until the memories of the night and her joining with Shepard came back from out of nowhere.

It was a life...beginning inside her. The connection had been so deep, the joining so intense, the physical components of the love making so strong, she was not even aware that as she fell through the experience of him, she had been taking pieces of it to create something. The experiences, the fibers that coalesced into the tapestry of his life had provided the catalysts, his seed which he had twice left inside her was the template that her body picked from to randomize the elements of her own DNA. The process which she had been so intimately aware of with her previous three children had evaded her completely and some ancient instinctual part of her brain had carried out the process.

_Shepard__...Uriah...you cost me a daughter too._

_Do you want me to give you one back?_

Concerns and doubts began to swirl about her, pulling her consciousness away from the zygote biding its time to spring forth in the form of a new life. At her age, pregnancy was hard, almost unheard of, Asari found pregnancy after the seventh century of life almost impossibly complicated. The stresses it put on a body that had been used and abused for seven hundred or more years often proved to be fatal for the unborn and, sometimes, the mother. She found herself wondering if she should terminate the pregnancy, a small mass effect field in her womb, no more than a nanometer across would be all it would take. It could be a mercy, ending a life that could possibly be destined to never reach birth or preserve it from never knowing her mother. Which instinct was correct? Part of her wanted to bring the pregnancy to completion, witness the birth of her child with Shepard, maybe even watch her grow into a maiden and start on her own path. The idea of a life, what was left of it, with Shepard and their daughter seemed so appealing. Still, shades of doubt crept in like storm clouds' ominous portent on a sunny day. What if, on the off chance, this child could be an Ardat Yakshi as well? It couldn't be possible, she would not be pure blood, but what if it really had been all her fault that her previous three daughters were? The darkness of doubt, dread, fear, and guilt began to overcome her. Focusing her biotics inward she formed a small pit of energy, a small singularity contained within a mass effect field, a sudden and painless abortion for a life not even aware of itself yet.

_Mother, let me live again, let me know what it is to give._

It was almost as if she heard Morinth's voice. The daughter she had loved more than any of the others, the daughter she had been most proud of, the daughter she had killed. A daughter that was the sins of the mother given form, who raged against her plight and had caused so much pain...had known so much pain. This was a chance for her to live on in spirit, to experience a life not shadowed in doubt and anger, to live, to love, to give life rather than take it.

_Do you want me to give you one back?_

How could she spurn a gift like that? The sphere of anger, self-doubt, and fear manifested as the atom sized black hole in her womb seethed, almost as if it was screaming at her to give into her misgivings. The Zygote less than a centimeter away was love given form. Would she let hate kill love? She would not, she could not. She forced the field holding the singularity inward, crushing it and snuffing it out. The clouds dissipated, the sun shone through, staring out into the seemingly endless black she suddenly felt more calm than she had in centuries. At last she felt as if peace and the balance of her life had been restored. Bearing this child would be her atonement, but she would have to be cautious, she knew this; the risks to both her and the developing offspring would be great, but she was certain she could surmount them. Of course a little pampering from Shepard would certainly be of help. But not yet, the mission was paramount, she would let him know in time, and maybe, hopefully, they could start a new chapter of life together. She laughed, contentedly.

* * *

"Rise and shine sleepy head."

Joker stirred, not fully awake, he was trying to figure out why his mom sounded like a Krogan. His eyes opened a second and sunk back again, Wrex was in an apron and dress, standing in the door of his old room. Somewhere in his brain a voice was shouting "It's not your mom, idiot." Still, his brain wouldn't lie to him, would it? Wrex was his mom and he was in his old room wearing that old apron she always put on to make breakfast. It had always been so weirdly anachronistic of her.

"Wrex...you're not my mom." he mumbled, "just five more minutes."

Grunt wasn't sure why Joker thought he was he was Wrex, even less certain as to how the human could think that Wrex could be his mother. He turned to look at Kasumi, her face, or the part that was visible under the hood painted with a big smirk. The humor of human practical jokes was lost on him, unless it entailed someone getting hurt. Clumsiness was always funny, not because clumsy people tended to flop about in ridiculous ways but because it meant they were inferior as warriors. Not that humans were inferior as warriors, but often the most self-assured of them were made the biggest fools when a practical joke went off as intended. Shepard was a human, and he was a battle master that any Krogan should be willing to surrender his left testicles to serve under. He shrugged at the slender human thief, "Now what?"

"Tell him he'll be late for school." she whispered.

The Krogan nodded and turned back to the bed, "Get up or you'll be late for school."

"Do I haffto?" Joker protested, his speech sleep-slurred.

"If you don't Shepard will be angry." Grunt countered.

"Don'tell dad...jus'let me skip t'day."

In the corner of the crew bunkroom two of the other Cerberus crew snickered.

"Jeffery Moreau, get up right this minute!" Kasumi barked, fists on her hips, playing into the role.

"Alrigh Alrigh, I'm up."

Joker sat up, eyes opened to stare right in the face of a Krogan, bone crest still forming, eyes uncharacteristically large given the huge body. Grunt blinked back, not uttering a word. The two kept eyes locked for a minute. Joker broke the verbal stalemate with a bellowing cry that was two parts annoyance to one part alarm. Grunt took a step back, not sure what the howl meant or how he should respond.

"What the fuck? I mean...seriously. Seriously? What the fu-"

"We've found your phantom." Kasumi cut Joker off before he could finish his diatribe.

Joker shot upright, trying to climb from the bunk, still not fully awake and banging his head on the overhang. It wasn't a particularly loud noise, nor had he hit it very hard, but for an individual who spent his entire life trying to avoid banging into things out of the most dire of necessity, it must have been painful.

"Owwww, shit, God dammit..."

"Shepard had us come to wake you up, he said you wanted to be at the helm when we made contact." Grunt added.

Joker rubbed his forehead, wincing from the bump. "Great. Okay, could I get a hand up, please?"

Grunt extended a hand, the navigator wrapped his hand around the huge thumb and was pulled upright. Joker took a halting half-step, still groggy and uncoordinated, a dangerous combination for him. One false move could lead to a shattered hip. Both Kasumi and Grunt leaned forward to catch the navigator who righted himself, and took a step forward. "Let's go, we can't let Forsyth screw this up."

Joker exited the room, turning left and heading for the lift. Kasumi let out a half giggle, arms folded across her chest, leaning back on her left leg.

"Tough little bastard." she chirped.

Grunt turned to look her in the face, his expression deadly serious, "Does Urdnot Wrex really look like his mother?"

Kasumi arches her brows at the young Krogan, "I somehow kind of doubt it, Grunt."

* * *

"So...where is it?" Jack sounds impatient as always.

"Probably still outside visual range." Jacob comments, patently patient even when dealing with the volatile biotic.

"Wha kind'uv crazy bast'ads would operate a frigate out'in t'is 'ell 'ole?" Zaeed proffers.

"If Joker is right, it is more likely the size of a dreadnought." Tali counters.

"Joker is usually right when it counts." Garrus agrees.

"In matters pertaining to astrophysics as they pertain to ship function and operation, we have observed that Moreau, Lieutenant has a factual accuracy of eighty nine point one three three percent. This figure is a full twenty four point nine three percent higher than the mean organic factual accuracy." Legion's vote of confidence doesn't really sound like much of a vote of confidence.

"See, Legion, aren't you glad he is on our side?" Tali replies.

"We do not understand the question."

"Okay, people. I am going to need five hundred credits a head for everyone in my cockpit." Joker snidely declared. The whole team short of Samara was standing in the cockpit and he wasn't really appreciating the crowd.

EDI came to his defense, "Operating parameters prescribe that no more than three non-operations observers should be in the cockpit at any given point."

Mordin seconded the assessment, "Lieutenant Moreau's concentration must be at peak. Unknown contact, possibility of hostility. Would be wise to allow him full operating latitude. Besides, Commander Shepard and EDI plenty enough back-seat drivers for him to deal with."

Joker chuckled, "Thanks Professor."

"Make a hole, make a hole." Shepard slipped past the team and stood next to Joker. "Okay folks, lets unass the AO. Garrus, we might need you on the forward battery just in case."

"On the way, Commander." The Turian replied, heading back to his station.

"Grunt, Thane, Zaeed, and Jacob. Be ready to repel boarding actions as necessary."

"Aye aye." Jacob confirmed.

"Jack, Kasumi, Miranda...damage control."

"Got it." Jack answered.

"Understood, Commander." from Miranda.

"Tali...you and Legion head to engineering. Tali...you do what you do best sweetheart, Legion, be ready to back up EDI with electronic warfare."

"Acknowledged."

"Will do, Commander."

"Professor, Samara, you're with me."

The fire team and Solus both turned to see the Justicar approaching. Something was different about her, but they couldn't quite put their finger on what, she held herself differently, walked with a bit more urgency in her step. She didn't seem as calm, but it wasn't agitation, more like a new understanding of her position in the crew.

"Commander..." Joker's voice lilted, he sounded disturbed.

"What is it, Joker?" Shepard turned to lean over the chair, looking at the consoles.

"I think I have visual."

"You think?"

"Seven points to port, against that gas cloud."

Shepard squinted, the cloud in question was barely a few shades lighter than the void that framed it, a faintly burgundy shade. It took him a moment to realize the mammoth patch in the cloud was not a patch of space at all, but the outline of a ship. Its lines were long and boxy, clearly of human or Turian make, but not in a configuration he had ever seen before...it looked almost as big as the _Destiny Ascension_. It was completely black, no paint or markings were visible, the hull itself seeming to blend in with the black of space in this area of the galactic circle. Had it not been for the nebulous gasses they could have passed right over it without realizing. For its operating theatre the ship was quite literally invisible. Its emission patterns were harder to track than even the Normandy's and visual acquisition in most situations would be all but impossible. The shape, long and broad with thick angular sections made its heavy armor immediately apparent. Even without kinetic barriers it could survive a hit from all but the most powerful of weapons without a hull breach. With appropriate weapon mounts, the ship could easily wade into a fleet of enemy cruisers with virtual impunity. It was terrifying to Shepard to imagine that the Illusive Man had these kind of resources at his command. A thought briefly crossed his mind, words like anti-Christ and Armageddon whipped through his mind like sheets of paper carried on a strong breeze.

"Normandy, this is the Temür, heave to and prepare for docking. Welcome to the Aegis Cell." The comm from the other ship filled the cockpit.

"I want one..." Grunt commented.

**[! Author's Note !] Okay, its going to start getting a bit more interesting and less like an episode of _Twin Peaks_ now.**


	14. Chapter 14

"I want weapons at the ready. I'm not sure to what degree we can trust these guys. Don't draw down, but be at the ready. Keep a good interval, be sure to look for any cover. Observe everything, admire nothing. I hope I'm just being paranoid." Uriah checked the safety on his M-5, triple checked the M-96 he held at the ready. "Thane, Garrus, Legion, stay on slack, if things go side-ways I want you to reduce crew-served and heavy weapons personnel."

"Solid copy, Shepard." the Turian replied.

Inside the airlock, stuffed to capacity with the lion's share of the special operations team, they waited for the ship to equalize pressure with the docking arm of the _Temür_. Shepard's fears were being confirmed when he realized the ship was named for the Chagatai conqueror. The name itself was one that promised ruin and destruction. He found himself wondering what kind of insidious designs occurred on this ship; away from the prying eyes of the galaxy, they could do almost anything. He found himself wondering if maybe he had become to complicated for the Illusive Man and being sent here was nothing more than a trap to liquidate him and his team so Cerberus could start fresh with the information he had obtained. If that was the situation they had a fight on their hands, and once Shepard had finished with the Aegis cell, he could finish off the Illusive Man. He could bring the Citadel Council his head on a platter to cement his loyalty.

The airlock opened, revealing the long gantry to the stealth dreadnought. Shepard took the first step, armored boots clumping loudly in the empty corridor. Zaeed, Grunt, and Samara fell in right behind him. If things went for the worse, their initial bursts of assault weapons fire could suppress any contacts and allow the other biotics and marksmen to exploit exposed or isolated enemies. Strangely, he felt much the same way when he had assaulted the collector base. He had no fear that he would not make it through...the concern was for the lives of his team mates and their possibility of escape afterwards. If worst came to worst, and they attempted to scuttle the Normandy, he was not sure there would be enough time to evac to the Temür. He would lose people again...that was what worried him.

He slipped back into the hyper-alert, chrono-morphic, perception of combat focus. The corridor seemed to turn into a surreal world as he noted all the details, all the deficiencies, aspects of it that put his team at risk. Lack of cover, rubberized internal lining over case hardened steel sub-structure. Tapping sound suggested zirconium oxide ceramic for heat insulation. At the very least, it would be impossible for them to space them all with a well placed shot to the corridor wall. He double checked his suit's kinetic barriers, found them to be fully charged, the first shots would likely hit him, if they were to come, that would give his team a few second to fall back. The fact he had opted for the M-96 over the M-76 could prove a liability for suppression, but he counted on his marksmanship to make up the difference. Rather than spraying shots to get their heads down, he would engage and reduce the targets, removing their ability to return fire. They reached the opposite airlock and paused, waiting for the hatch to open. A moment after reaching it, it did so. Inside Shepard immediately saw a series of heavy barricaded fighting positions with firing slits, a raised heavy machine gun position and a pair of YMIR mechs. A dozen or so armored commandos stood near the fighting positions. Instinct told Shepard to raise the weapon, but a voice inside him told him to check fire. The Aegis troops had their weapons at the ready, but lowered in combat carry position. One, voice heavily modulated through a respirator spoke, "Clear, get the bio."

Another armored troop, unmistakable for anything but a Turian approached, waving an omni tool over them in a wide waving gesture. The security squad kept their weapons down, but Shepard could tell by the tightness of their grips they were prepared to fire at less than a second's warning. The armored Turian performing the scan moved through the group, waving his hand over each member. Finally he turned his helmeted head back and shouted, "Confirm! Bio clean. It's them."

The Cerberus troops relaxed their grips. One of the troops stepped forward, "Apologies, Commander, we had to be sure you folks were who you looked like you were."

Shepard felt the short adrenaline spike start to ebb, "No body bag, no foul. Security is pretty tight."

"We have some very sensitive cargo." the trooper replied through the vocador.

"Standard Cerberus stuff? What kind of crazy experiments do you run out here?"

"Brain washing."

"Excuse me...?"

"Well, brain washing and other things." He was so matter of fact.

Jack bristled, "Who are you brain washing?"

The Turian guard spoke up. "We've all undergone treatment. They give you the course, break the conditioning and do it again, they repeat the cycle until it sticks."

Shepard was seething, fighting the urge to start shouting, or worse. "Who is in charge here?"

"Diefenbaker is in charge of security, and Doctor Van der Bray is project head."

"I feel like I've heard that name before." Uriah replied.

"I'm assuming you want to see the Doc. We'll take you to her, she's hard to get away from the labs and class rooms." came the voice-modulated reply.

"Take me to her."

* * *

Two of the Cerberus squad had broken off from the main group, leading the team past the security checkpoint and down an austere corridor. Everything was spartanly utilitarian, the corridors seemed to all be a uniform 8 feet by 8 feet with rubberized floors and impact resistant walls. The lighting was poor, enough to silhouette targets but not well lit enough to get a clear idea what lay further down. At intervals of roughly ever twenty five meters codes were stenciled on the wall. Likely directions to various parts of the ship, but as they were printed as a series of numbers and letters, it was impossible to tell where they led. At every intersection they found another ad-hoc check point. They were unmanned, but if staffed they could turn the corridors into killing zones with murderous crossfire. Shepard wondered at the utility of such a design, surely a stealth ship with detection evading properties on par with this ship wouldn't have to worry about boarding actions. He found himself wondering if perhaps it was not so much to keep enemies out as keep something else in. The term "brain washing" came back into his mind, surely you couldn't expect passive acceptance from the victims of the process. The guards themselves were likely victims too; kidnapped, tortured, and molded into the Illusive Man's secret army. That didn't explain why a Turian was among them, but he was certain that the Doctor could provide insight. As they passed another checkpoint, Shepard saw a smear on one of the barricades. His first inclination was that it was blood, the ruddy red-brown marks covering the case-hardened steel. Something about the texture didn't seem right though, unlike a blood smear it had a waxy look to the texture, almost like a child's crayon marking.

The guards approached a larger access corridor, it was massive, seeming to run along the spine of the ship, the ceiling rose some thirty feet and the width was wide enough for one aircar coming, and another going. A tram sat waiting, a series of open platforms with railings along a central rail. A pair of powered down YMIR mechs sat on trolleys on one of the rear most cars. The design of the tram itself reminded him a great deal of the tram at the Star Port on Eden Prime. The guards stepped onto the tram, one heading to the controls at the front.

"Hop one, we'll take you to the labs."

Shepard and the team filed onto the first and second tram cars and with a lurching start, it got underway, heading in the direction of what must be the front of the ship. The cars quickly picked up speed, soaring down the track at speeds great enough to create a rather pronounced cross wind. Along the central access corridor Shepard spotted numerous crates and containers, several additional palettes bearing powered down YMIR mechs. It was hard to take full stock of all that was there to be seen at the break-neck speeds. Shepard watched as another pile of crates whipped by, and his eye was caught by a small body moving. Bipedal, clad in some sort of blue jumpsuit, blonde hair in what looked like a ponytail.

"Is that a child!" He exclaimed.

"What?" The guard running the tram slowed the vehicle.

"I thought I saw a child over at those crates." Uriah pointed back at the stack of containers shrinking in the distance.

"Not again." The other guard grumbled.

The operator stopped the tram, reversing it and creeping the cars back to the pile of crates. He sighed, the sound rendered artificial sounding through the helmet vocador. When the vehicle stopped at the stacked brick-red and black containers he stepped from the car. Taking a few steps forward he froze in his tracks, assault rifle still lowered. Shepard's hand instinctively went to his side-arm, he was not going to let the guard kill the child, but he waited to see what would happen before he drew down.

The guard took another step forward, "Maggie...I know you're in there, come out."

There was silence.

"I mean it, if you don't I'm gonna tell Doctor Lietz this time."

A young girl, no more than nine years old stepped from behind the crates. "Awwww! But its boring!" she protested.

"You know you're not supposed to be in this part of the ship." the guard admonished.

"But I can draw on whatever I want in this section of the ship, and Mister D never gets on to me about it." came the precocious reply.

"He might not care about you drawing on the stuff, but he will care about you sneaking out on your own."

The child pouted. She wasn't scared of the guard, wasn't alarmed or uncomfortable about being discovered, if anything she seemed annoyed that he had the gall to interfere with her play. Something about it seemed strange...why a child on a warship out in this area of space? Was she one of the test subjects? If she was, what kind of conditioning were they using that left her so plucky and independent. Brain washing was designed to strip individuality and force conformity. In the case of this child it was not working, and yet she didn't seem anymore defiant than the average precocious artistic child.

"Alright, tell you what...come back with me and when I get off duty I'll let you draw on my helmet." the guard replied.

The girl perked, face lighting up, "Really? You mean it?"

"I promise, come back to the Praxis and be a good little girl and this evening I'll bring you my helmet and you can draw whatever you want on it." the guard didn't sound particularly menacing or, for that matter, like what he would expect from Cerberus personnel.

"Okay!" the child chirped and skipped onto the tram.

The little girl seemed oblivious to Shepard's team at first, then she turned and looked at them, quickly turning away. She swung her arms, rotating at the waist back and forth as she did, turned and glanced over her shoulder again then set her gaze forward as the guard started the tram moving again. She shifted on her feet first to the left, then to the right, back to the left again. The tram's speed leveled off, no where near as fast as it had been moving before. The Cerberus commando seemed concerned that a high speed would be dangerous for Maggie and had adjusted accordingly. The little girl leaned towards the guard and asked in the hoarse child-trying-to-be-quiet tone, "Who are they?"

The guard replied blandly, "They're a special operations team here to see Doctor Van der Bray."

The girl spun to look at the team carefully. Her eyes came to rest on Grunt and she squealed in excitement. "Lookie! Its Murz all grown up!"

The Krogan seemed taken aback to be in the child's spot light, he darted his eyes from left to right as if seeking some sort of protection from the rest of the team. The girl stepped over and looked up at the addled Grunt, "Hey mister, are you Murz's big brother?"

Grunt stammered, "Uhhhhh..."

The Cerberus soldier in the rear interjected, "No, he doesn't even know Murz."

Shepard interjected, "Who is Murz?"

"One of the other children."

Jack seemed genuinely upset, this wasn't fitting her image of Cerberus, but she couldn't overcome her feeling that something was wrong and it was plain on her face for all the members of the team to see, "How many children are on this ship?"

"Too damn many." The soldier in the back chuckled.

"Hey!" The tram operator growled, "Watch your mouth in front of Maggie."

Maggie crossed her arms, nose in the air, a haughty expression on her face, "I know all the cuss words already. Ryan taught them to me."

The foremost soldier grunted, "I'll have to make sure that Mr. D has a talk with Ryan."

"Ryan calls Mister D staple face." Maggie offered.

"That's not very nice of him." the rear guard said, trying to redeem his previous slip-up.

"Mister D can't help how his face looks, he got hurt really bad a long time ago." the operator/soldier added.

"I know!" she protested, "Besides, I like Mister D, he's nice, he sounds kinda funny, and his face looks really weird...but he's always nice, and Doctor Van der Bray says nice is what counts."

"Doctor Van der Bray is right." the rear trooper replied.

"But I heard her say the f-word one time when she thought no one could hear." Maggie countered, once again affecting a faux and misguided sense of maturity.

"Well, don't you start saying it." Rear-man chided, his modulated voice presenting his belief that he had made up for his previous rather light bit of profanity.

Jack stepped closer to Shepard, brows raised, confusion and concern on her face. "This is all wrong...Cerberus doesn't act like this. I remember, they treated us like animals...why are they being so nice?"

"We'll find out Jack, just try not to think about it too much. This is just another mission. You can handle it, I know you can. You're tough, remember? This kid seems happy, I don't think they are abusing her or running weird experiments. But if they are...we'll handle it." He spoke low, barely audible over the sound of the air whooshing past. Shepard had similar feelings of disquiet; his, however, were coming from the strange sense of nostalgia he was experiencing. He remembered being in the same position, talking to Marines on the _Einstein_ and _Suphan Buri_ as a child. As the tram slowed he forced the thoughts to the back of his mind, his first priority was to find out what manner of experiments Dr. Van der Bray was running here and, a close second, why the Illusive Man had deigned it necessary for the link-up in the first place.

Shepard turned to the Geth, "Legion, how far have we gone in here?"

"Internal sensors indicated a net distance of one point zero four two kilometers from the Normandy airlock, Shepard Commander."

"Oh cool! You have a robot too!" Maggie squealed.

The soldier who had run the tram turned to the other, "Dusty, you take the Commander and his team to see the Doc, I'm going to take Maggie back to the Praxis."

"Copy that." The soldier shifted past Garrus and Thane, stepping off the tram. "This way, Commander."

The guard proceeded to a cargo lift across the platform. A large security checkpoint stood in front of the massive elevator; two pill-box like structures and a trio of bunkers rose from the deck, built right into the sub-structure. A squad of Cerberus troops milled about the guard post, weapons at the ready but showing no sense of urgency. A quartet of YMIRs stood at the ready at fighting positions on top of the pill-boxes and bunkers. In addition to the fortified positions Shepard counted a least twenty other fighting positions and some thirty five LOKI mechs powered down at VI interface nodes in groups of seven. If anyone or anything were to board the ship, fighting to the labs would be suicidal, short of the artillery they had a full fledged firebase. Shepard found himself wondering what the defenses looked like for the "Praxis."

"More fuckin' new guys?" a trooper with a heavily modified M-8a3 Gorgon asked of Dusty.

"Square that shit, mother fucker, these are the VIPs." He hissed under his breath, turning back to make sure that Maggie was well out of earshot ex post facto.

Shepard noted that these guards, as had those at the airlock, all seemed to be wearing very heavily modified Skunkworks Hoplite series ten heavy armor. The standard visor and respirator had been replaced with a single piece integrated advanced NVG and respirator combination. The normal woodland camo color scheme had been replaced with what looked to be ladar digital low-light camouflage. They were armed to the teeth as well, each carrying an assault rifle, pistol, shotgun, sub-machine gun, and a special application weapon. Several large entry shields sat propped against one of the pillboxes, suggesting combat entry team training.

The offending soldier snapped to attention, "Commander, sir, I apologize, sir! No disrespect of you and your team is intended, sir!"

Shepard nodded, "I've heard worse. Carry on."

"Aye aye, sir!"

Dusty shook his head at the soldier, walking past, "Screwbie... This way Commander."

Jack stopped in her tracks, "Shepard, I can't go down there. If they're doing some fucked up experiments...I swear..."

"I've seen more crazy Cerberus projects than I would have liked to, as well, Commander." Garrus added.

Shepard nodded, "Point taken, you can wait here if you want."

The admonished soldier held up an interjecting hand, "Commander, if any of you team wants they can wait in the Garden."

"There's a garden on this ship?" Jacob sounded incredulous.

"Its connected to the Praxis." the commando replied.

"Its probably recess right now though." Dusty stated flatly.

"I don't think the kids will mind." Another soldier, obviously the squad sharp shooter, holding an M-29 commented.

"I wouldn't mind going to see that too, Commander." Tali said expectantly.

"Alright, anyone who doesn't feel like coming to the lab, go wait in the garden." Shepard tried to not sound imperious about it.

The soldier that had first addressed Dusty took a step back in the direction of the tram, "It's this way. Follow me."

Jack, Jacob, Kasumi, Tali, Garrus, and Thane fell into step behind him as he led them back across the tram and towards another lift at the opposite side of the main access axis. Zaeed, looked back and forth for a moment, shrugged said "Ta 'ell wi'h it." and followed too. The remainder of the team fell into step prompting Shepard to give the nod to Dusty who entered the lift, waiting for the rest of the Lazarus team to follow. As she stepped into the open elevator, Samara made brief eye contact with Shepard, a small knowing smile crept onto her face. Shepard shrugged, a barely perceptible smirk on his face. She rolled her eyes in response, the smile getting a bit bigger.

Mordin diverted attention cleverly, taking a long loud sniff of the air. "Note lack of post-processing particulate in air. Smells to fresh to be totally recycled. Noticeable lack of exchanged vents, floor grates at regular intervals. How do you facilitate carbon dioxide exchange?"

Dusty started the elevator, turning to look over his shoulder at the present members of the team, "We have alotta plants on the ship. In addition to the garden we have four hectares of hydroponics."

"Four hectares...what exactly is this cell's objective?" Miranda balked.

"Doctor Van der Bray is the best person to explain that, I'm just combat crew." the soldier clarified.

* * *

The elevator's decent stopped and they found themselves facing another checkpoint. A pair of firing positions supported by turreted machine guns stood at the entrance the corridor. The entrance was only wide enough to allow two beings to pass at a time before reaching a barrier wall that had to be bypassed on either side. The choke point was just another example of the murderous efficiency with which the defense of the ship had been designed. Based on what he had seen so far, it seemed the best way for the Aegis Cell to deal with any threats was to actually let them board the ship then be mercilessly cut to ribbons by its defensive positions. These corridors were also poorly lit, but the dull blue hue allowed for better visibility than the light swallowing black and gray hues that dominated the first corridors they had navigated.

"What does your combat compliment for this ship look like?" Shepard inquired.

"We have two hundred ninety four operators in seven man teams." Dusty replied.

"Who's in charge?"

"Top kick is Diefenbaker, CO is Magnusson. Dief handles tactical along with Pelnus. Magnusson is pretty much HHQ." the soldier explained.

"So you don't know what your mission is?" Shepard sounded incredulous.

"Respectfully, sir...I'm not authorized to say."

They passed a long series of labs and offices, each numbered with additional information about their purpose being listed in the form of an alpha-numeric code and symbols.

"Well, can you tell me if we're here to get brainwashed?" Shepard fired point blank.

Dusty stopped in his tracks a moment, chuckling, "I can say there was nothing about that in the SOP for your arrival, sir." he paused, "I think when you talk to Doc Van der Bray it'll all get a helluva lot clearer, sir."

"Lead the way then."

They turned a corner, headed down another corridor and past a lab with a large observation window. Inside were scores, if not hundreds, of fish-tank-sized enclosed vats. Shepard squinted, trying to figure out what was occuring in the room. A pair of humans in lab coats with data slates were slowly perusing the data outputs on each of the tanks, jotting down notes as they did so. One of them tapped at the glass, a pleased expression crossing his face as he typed in a note. The lab was easily twice the size of the _Normandy's_ infirmary, and it was one of maybe a dozen they had already passed. The lab workers didn't look particularly insidious...but then again, it wasn't like in some movie where they would wring their hands and cackle. Fiction made things seem so much more clear cut; mad scientists acted like mad scientists. For all he knew they were cultivating bio-weapons or apex parasites to introduced into water supplies. The relatively benign expression could have just been satisfaction over a job evilly done.

"What's that lab for?" Miranda inquired.

"Van der Bray." the Cerberus trooper replied, sounding more than a bit exasperated over the external projector, "And on that note. Here we are."

Dusty entered a code on the holographic door interface and it slid open. The office was large and under other circumstances would have been seen as elaborate, even extravagant, instead the extra space was dedicated to the practical trappings of science and academia. It was positively messy; not dirty, but cluttered in the way broom-closet-sized offices of odd-ball tenured professors tended to be. Shepard almost could imagine a short, wild haired Dutchman with an anachronistic beard and pince-nez glasses.

"Verdomme! Don't you ever knock?" the voice was feminine and deceptively young sounding, heavily inflected with the accent of the Dutch Afrikaners.

"Doc, our VIPs are here, Commander Shepard and part of his SO team."

"Ahh! Commander, I had no idea that you had arrived."

Van der Bray stepped from around behind a desk piled high with all the accoutrements of a devoted academic. She was an almost alarmingly young looking woman, her light nut brown hair had been done up in a bun, a data slate stylus shoved through it to hold it in place. She was about as far from what Shepard expected as possible with the possible exceptions of a small pair of half-lens glasses perched on the end of her delicate Germanic nose.

"Of course...Doctor Clarissa Van der Bray, formerly of the University of Johannesburg. You wrote the famous report on conditioning and brainwashing." Shepard declared, the spark of recognition turning into a full fledged forest fire.

"Infamous, Commander. You have no idea how complicated it was to get taken seriously after I was discredited." She lifted the glasses from her face.

"So naturally you got in the mad scientist racket with Cerberus huh?" Uriah crossed his arms.

"Actually, I was approached by this organization, it wasn't like they could send out a circular or post on a billboard 'wanted: scientists, ethical flexibility a must' now could they?" She seemed more than a bit irritated by the accusation.

"If you realized the brainwashing process is ethically wrong, why do it?"

"Brainwashing, our process is not quite the same thing you are thinking, Commander. Our process is geared towards the goal of preserving sentient life." She replied, indignation masking her face.

"And that's how this all started out?" He sounded skeptical.

"Not exactly, I came to the project as director to help redefine its goals. The original purpose of the project was dubious at best."

"Your original paper outlined how progressive brainwashing could improved the quality of Alliance troops, not just in terms of combat readiness, but also in terms of professional behavior and interactions with civilian populaces." he squinted at the Doctor, "Is the goal of the Aegis Cell to build an army for Cerberus?"

"Before I came to the project that was not far from the stated goal. I was placed with the Aegis cell two years before your warnings about the Reapers fell on deaf ears in the council. If what you maintained were true, it became absolutely necessary to ensure that a seed of human life was preserved should the worst occur. But I'm getting ahead of myself...when I came to the project our goal was similar to that of MKULTRA during the mid twentieth century." She seemed nonplussed about dropping such a bomb shell.

"You were programming sleeper agents?" Shepard sounded outraged.

"Yes. But not just human, we began cultivating Asari, Salarian, and Turian agents as well. Orphans and homeless children were our ideal subjects." Doctor Van der Bray continued, "The original Aegis cell was a black ops unit. The soldiers were trained for kidnapping, smash-and-grabs, assassination, and extrication of prisoners. Seven years ago, the project changed gears to take a 'sapping' approach. Rather than surgical strikes from an outside source, we could defeat enemies by pulling their foundation out from under them."

Uriah glanced over at Samara, she was being remarkably calm despite the fact that the Justicar in her was likely ready to summarily execute the Doctor. He could see the tension in her clinched jaw, the tightened fists. If she snapped, how would they fight their way out? Could they even fight their way out? Everything he was seeing seemed to be indicating they would not be able to in any practical way. He should have had her go with the others to the garden, what a foolish oversight.

"And how did that change after Shepard discovered the Reaper menace?" The Justicar asked calmly, the most bare hint of menace in the voice.

"Revelation of the Reaper threat caused us to redefine our original goals, ensuring continuity of advanced civilizations took precedent over being able to manipulate the courses they took. At present we are an ark in space. Even if the Reapers cannot be stopped, the continuity of all the council races can be maintained on this ship."

Mordin placed a thoughtful hand under his chin, "Of course; presence of children, heavy security presence, enhanced stealth systems, focus on mental conditioning. All actions geared towards ensuring continuity of council species and culture."

Doctor Van der Bray nodded, "In short, yes."

"Then why were we brought here? Are we going to be cloistered too?" Shepard inquired curtly.

"You haven't spoken with Captain Magnusson yet?" Van der Bray seemed shocked.

"I thought you were in charge." he replied.

"Of projects, yes...but operations are under Captain Magnusson, he is the one you should be talking to."

"How many children are there on this ship?" Samara inquired calmly.

"One thousand fifty three ranging from infants to seventeen." The scientist replied.

"What do you do with them?" The Asari asked.

"We teach them, classes from mathematics, languages, social studies, history, science. Based on individual propensity they receive training in basic engineering or agricultural studies. At age ten we start teaching them rudimentary martial theory."

Grunt nodded appreciatively at the mention of military training.

"What of their spirit? What concessions do you make for their individuality?" Samara continued the interrogation.

"We foster their creative tendencies as best as we can. Sports, art, music, reading and writing...its all part of the cultures we seek to preserve. One of our children, Talek, has the most beautiful singing voice, he's particularly fond of human music." Van der Bray mentioned wistfully.

Miranda cocked a brow, "Human...music?"

"Yes, I think Turian music just isn't enough of a challenge for him."

"So he's Turian?" Shepard inquired.

"Yes, we have children from all the council races. And of course we have a very successful Krogan program."

Grunt fumed, "You kidnapped Krogan children?"

"Well, no...we actually kidnapped a fertile female five years ago. We have been successfully producing perfectly natural Krogan, tank born, fertilized invetro. They're so energetic!" She sounded like a school teacher.

"What of the female?" Grunt took a step forward. Kidnapping a fertile female was just as bad, maybe even worse.

"We haven't attempted directe mating though she had inquired a few times after one of the security detail, Klaggz."

"So that is to say you don't have her hooked up to machines, full of tubes and wires?" Shepard grunted.

"Goodness, no! She is part of our staff now."

"Brainwashing..." Shepard grumbled.

"Commander, after you speak with Captain Magnusson I can explain our process to you in greater detail, I think you don't totally grasp what we do here."

Samara spoke up, calmly, "When words like brainwashing are thrown about it becomes difficult to remain suitably objective. If possible, may I see the children?"

"Of course." Van der Bray chirped, "I am about to conduct my rounds through the Praxis, if your Krogan comrade wishes, he can accompany us, I'm sure most of our Krogan children would be excited to see another adult."

Grunt shifted, seeming restless, he looked over the Shepard, "Battlemaster...can I?"

"Sure thing Grunt, it'll be good for you. Miranda, Mordin, Legion...you want to go too?"

"Would be interested to see their setup, Commander." the Salarian replied.

"As would I." from Miranda.

"Alright, go ahead. Legion and I will go see Magnusson."

**[! Author's Note !] Trying to phoneticize the Afrikaans accent is sort of like being kicked in the stomach...with knives. If anyone has any suggestion in that regard, feel free to mail me. After I had several paragraphs of conversation written out I realized that it was next to impossible for anyone to read so I reverted to non-phonetic text, just imagine an Afrikaans accent when you read Dr. Van der Bray's dialogue.**


	15. Chapter 15

As it turned out Shepard didn't have to endure another trip through the bowels of the massive ship, Magnusson had come looking for him. As the man approached Shepard already knew he was Van der Bray's opposite number. He carried himself like a man accustomed to command, this was his boat and he had no compunction about wearing the fact on his sleeve. He had ex-alliance painted all over him, two coats worth. Shepard would have sworn he had spit polished his hair were it not for the fact he had next to none left to bother with. He struck Uriah as the kind of man who spent his lunch break in the latrine making sure his shave was close enough and the latrines were clean enough. He was pretty sure he probably lifed everyone under his command half to death. He half imagined him in a thirty minute tirade about the grooming standard...and would probably make sure it was upheld religiously if Cerberus had one. To his left and right, following behind were a Turian and Human in the same types of combat armor he had seen earlier. Unlike the previous troops their helmets were doffed, tucked under their left arms and their weapons were stowed. The armored human had to be Diefenbaker, the reason little Ryan in Maggie's story called him Staple Face was readily apparent.

His face was horribly maimed; horrible in ways that made Garrus' and Zaeed's scars seem like beauty marks. The left side of his face had a series of permanent gussets that were either there to hold it together or allow what muscles remained under the skin to work what could pass for facial expressions. He carried himself like an experienced OCS come-up first lieutenant who had seen it all; supreme confidence, but not cocky. He was the kind of soldier who could lead a platoon through the gates of hell with half ammo and quarter rations and march out the other side with the Arch Fiend himself as a POW. The Turian also exuded quite professionalism. As hard as it was to judge the age of a Turian by his face, he looked to be middle aged and had the seasoning to match his years. They were very clearly in charge, this ship was their ship, the crew was their crew, Van der Bray was just along for the ride. Uriah found himself wondering how these men had found themselves in Cerberus. After learning of Kallarkan's relationship with The Illusive Man the presence of the Turian had not been nearly the shock he would have initially experienced, still to see one in so exclusive a position in the Cerberus Chain of Command was surprising.

Dusty, snapped to attention and saluted smartly as did the remaining Cerberus commandos at the security check point. The three returned the salute, prompting the commandos back to their at ease stance. Shepard's SPECTRE status and questionable active-duty Alliance military status absolved him of the ritual, a fact Magnusson paid no heed to. He extended a hand as he closed the last few steps.

"Commander Shepard, we had assumed it would have taken you longer to locate us. We were under strict orders to maintain comm silence otherwise we could have more easily facilitated linking up. Captain Edgar Magnusson. Welcome aboard."

Shepard shook the Captain's extended hand, it was a good firm man's grip. "It's quite a boat you have here, Captain."

"She's one hell of ship. I would have met with you sooner except I had to oversee siphoning reaction mass off of the nebula. I understand you already met Van der Bray?" His voice was gruff, reminding him in many ways of Tadius Ahern. "I understand you already met with Doctor Van der Bray?"

"I did...her theories are...how do I put it nicely, interesting."

"Idealistic egg head, Commander. Though her taking over the project side of Aegis makes it a lot easier to sleep at night without twinges of conscience."

"So you're alright with holding children here?" Shepard was blunt.

"Only twinges of guilt I have about the children are the Krogans who could have been born on their world. Course they would probably be half starved and half of them probably would have been killed in clan warfare. The others would all be in some orphanage somewhere waiting to be sold to perverts, kidnapped by slavers, or pending addiction to Hallex and Red Sand. " Magnusson was thoroughly convinced of what he was saying, and Shepard had to grudgingly admit that he had a point.

"Records indicated orphans and homeless organics in the age range of seven to eighteen are three hundred and eighty four percent more likely to utilize illegal intoxicants than organics of the same age group with intact family structures." Legion offered.

"How do the children react to it?"

"We grab them in groups, so its not like they don't have anyone to lean on while they acclimate, but most of them quickly figure out that a place where they don't have to worry about where their next meal comes from, they won't get attacked at night, and the only adults are there to protect or educate them beats the hell out of what they had before." The Captain replied.

"And the experiments?" Shepard thought he had found a chink in the armor.

"We do some rather serious gene modding, but that's it."

Uriah furrowed his brow, "What about the conditioning and brainwashing?"

"That's all done through the curriculum, no dark rooms or isolations chambers. Only time these kids have a hand laid on them is when they're getting a physical or looking for a hug. We have our own ways of dealing with any adults who take abnormal interest in our children."

The captain was of course referring to street justice, which, given their isolation, probably involved an airlock, being beaten to death, or summary execution at close range with a pistol. It was good to see that Aegis considered the children and their safety to be first priority, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more insidious in the works. Van der Bray had mentioned children trained as sleeper agents earlier in the program's history, he wondered what had become of them, surely conditioning of that variety would leave them damaged psychologically. He wondered if they had not received a gun's mercy and hadn't been quietly disposed of.

"What about the first children you trained here?" Shepard asked, knowing he was wading into dangerous waters.

"You've already met one."

Shepard cocked a brow.

"Dusty Perez here was one of our first. We snatched him off the streets on Omega when he was fifteen." Magnusson replied. "All of the children who were old enough have already transitioned into the security or crew compliment. The project started with only twenty four commandos, most of the current battalion graduated up from the original project." The helmeted Cerberus trooper lifted his chin slightly, a de facto sign of pride.

"I see...they seem quite...experienced."

"Most of them have been on operations as part of the unit." The apparent Diefenbaker interjected. His voice was synthesized via an artificial voice box. Whatever had ruined his face had apparently done a number on his neck. Shepard was curious, but had the good sense and couth not to ask about what had happened to the Cerberus officer. "We train them in house, the original cadre serves in the role of senior NCOs and officers on the squad and platoon level. We have devoted facilities to train for most urban environment warfare and tactics. If we let the boys season another half decade and taught them a bit more about protocol and investigative procedure we could turn half of them into SPECTREs."

The Turian chuckled, "That might be a bit of a stretch Joe. Seven years maybe...but five is pushing it."

Uriah was struck by how weighty an endorsement that was coming from the Turian. Turians had been supplying what probably amounted to the lion's share of SPECTREs to the citadel for centuries now. If this Turian in question had been tapped for the Aegis cell by The Illusive Man, and probably by recommendation from Consul Kallarkan, and was serving in a command level role, he was likely almost SPECTRE material himself. The facial markings, common to most Turians were absent, likely removed for the sake of anonymity, Uriah also noted a particularly large jack located to the rear right-hand side of his head. He was probably running an illegal high cycle biotic amp. The legality of such an item aside, most biotics eschewed the powerful amps because of the cosmetic issues and their tendency to produce skin irritation around the jack that fed coolant into the circuits that could reach dangerously high temperatures in close proximity to the brain. As a biotic he probably had been part of one of the vaunted Turian Cabals during his military service, he was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Shepard found it hard to imagine how they had managed to brain wash so powerful a soldier, much less one with as much pride as usually were found in the Turian Cabals.

"This is Joe Diefenbaker, our S-3." Magnusson stated, holding up his right hand palm upwards and extending it to his left. Behind his left shoulder the horribly scarred human nodded. "And this is our S-2, Cydonus Pelnus." The Turian tapped his brown, "They oversee all our operations."

"The _Temür_ looks to be a hell of a ship and crew, Captain." Uriah commented.

"I kept saying we should rename her _ErlKönig_ given our current mission." the Captain joked.

Shepard ignored the joke, it seemed a bit off-color. "But all that aside...what am I doing here?"

"Just coming to that Shepard, lets take a ride to the briefing room, we have something to show you directly related to your current mission."

* * *

Jack instinctively side-stepped as a child ran past at break-neck speeds. Grass scrunching under his small feet, dew clinging to the cuffs of his trousers. There was no fear on his face, no hint of the broken spirit of a caged animal in his eyes. He laughed as he ran past, a miniature Krogan hot on his heels, growling and bellowing in a strange gravely falsetto. The alien youth looked like an anthropomorphized terrapin stripped of shell, eyes wide, the corners of his wide mouth curled upwards. They were playing tag...not trying to kill each other. Jack knew the game, but couldn't reconcile watching children play it; not children in some Cerberus project. They were supposed to be trying to kill each other, just like she had remembered. Or did she really remember it? As hard as she tried, she couldn't remember what had really happened to her durring her years in that little slice of hell. How much of it had been a construct of her own mind, how much of it was concrete fact? She couldn't help but feel, standing in she was in this little paradise, that the horror may have, in fact, been of her own creation. She had been able to confirm that terrible things were done to the children on Pragia...but was it possible that there had been some joy there she had blinded herself to? Another child ran close by, getting tauntingly close to the Krogan youth who was clearly "it." The taunter clearly misjudged his move as he closed in on the tauntee and slipped on the slick grass, the Krogan landed a slapping hand and bellowed.

"You're it!" He bounded away with surprising speed and agility as the newly designated hunter began looking for a victim to transfer his "it" status too.

There looked to be nearly a hundred children in the garden at the moment. The size of the arboretum was stunning, it seemed to be larger than the entire combined area of the _Normandy's _interior and Jack wouldn't have been surprised to find that it was, in fact, two or three times the size of the frigate's inner spaces. Garrus let out a trilling whistle as he looked around, eyes tracing along the knots of trees and the artificial "daylight" created by the holographic ceiling panels which depicted blue skies and lazily drifting cottonous cumulous clouds.

"Its not exactly Palaven, but its pretty nice!" The Turian commented.

"Why would they waste all the space on this? This is bullshit...its all some Theresienstadt type snow job. I bet its all some big show they set up so Shepard doesn't just blast this place wide open."

"You wanna watch your language in front of the kids?" Garrus scolded.

"Why? Its not like these kids have anything to look forward too. This is all just another Cerberus mind fuck, and they're all victims."

Garrus took a step closer to Jack, his body language menacing, enough so that the biotic took a step back, "Look, all I see here is kids who are having the time of their lives. They're not malnourished, mistreated, or scared. Most of them look like they were orphans and cast offs, just because Cerberus stole you from your parents doesn't mean your story is all of theirs. Life is lousy enough like it is without always having to make another pile of crap out of the good parts. So how about you just shut up and enjoy what little pleasures there are for once."

Jack stood dumb struck for a moment, nobody had ever said anything like that to her before. She didn't know if she should be pissed or humbled. Garrus had balls; brass balls...brass balls under a layer of titanium laced ceramic armor. Jack let out a derisive snort, trying to maintain appearances. "Alright, but don't say I didn't tell you so when we find out the truth."

"And if you're wrong you finally going to pull the girder out of your ass?" Garrus countered, leaning back against a tree, arms folded.

"Only if you've got a big enough crane."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Dr. Van der Bray struck Miranda as scatter brained and inept; her office had been a mess, she didn't care enough about her appearance despite being what most would consider attractive, she was conciliatory despite the lack of necessity that she be so. In short, she was the opposite of Miranda yet she had resources at her disposal that made the Lazarus cell pale in comparison. Part of her assumed she slept with The Illusive Man to curry so much favor, of course the rest of her didn't believe that such an act would sway their mastermind nor did it seem likely that Van der Bray would engage in such politicking. Her budding mutual respect with Dr. Solus wasn't helping things either. The eccentric Salarian and the human doctor were chatting like kindred intellectual spirits. She had just begun explaining how they routinely exposed the children to common diseases and illnesses to ensure that they had fully functioning immune systems and maintained a healthy regimine of vaccines to avoid the pitfall the Quarians had experienced in their Migrant Fleet. Grunt had asked a patently stupid question about why they would engage in such activities and Van der Bray had actually bothered to explain it to the Krogan. Miranda found it galling, why did she bother to justify herself to the brute? What was worse was that she had actually managed to get the Krogan to understand the rationality behind it. Samara asked about the safety of the practice, and the Doctor had once again explained their procedures and their careful medical observation and treatment to allow the illnesses to take their natural course to allow the children's immunity to develop naturally.

Solus seemed positively frantic, chattering away about the foresight of the move. If she didn't know better, she would swear that the Salarian was attracted to the project leader. They exchanged thoughts, observations, and anecdotes; a positive orgasm of scientific and medical knowledge. As much as it annoyed her, there was something about Samara that was bothering her even more. She seemed so perfectly serene, but it wasn't the Justicar serenity, it was something else...the serenity of a woman. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, which was even more infuriating. It was like she had found some deep happiness that she was holding inside in some warm place where no one would be able to touch it or take it away. It wasn't stupid joy either, it was bliss that had been fully contextualized and examined from every angle. It was the kind of happiness you could not shatter in anyway than to completely eradicate any vestige of that source of contentment. She found she was jealous of that kind of happiness having never experienced it herself. She already didn't like the Justicar...the fact that save for the leash Shepard had the Asari on, Samara would likely have no compunction about "judging" her for her perceived injustices made her blood boil. What right did this nine hundred year old bitch have to look down on her? What bothered her more was the fact that if slipped from the leash, she would probably win the ensuing fight too. For all her confidence in her own ability, Miranda knew that she would be hard pressed to match a being that was born when the Mongols were annexing most of the known world.

Maybe she was just irritated in general, because she found herself similarly annoyed by the routed they were taking through the labs to reach the Praxis and the project's subjects. Van der Bray was making a point of explaining what was done in each of the labs, as if she were some sort of tour guide rather than a scientist. As they approached the sterilization lab Miranda casually noted the radiation warnings. Using gamma waves to sterilize medical and lab equipment was nothing new, and on a ship that used as much equipment that necessitated the process as this one, it seemed only natural. Just before they entered the corridor that lead through the labs Samara stopped dead in her tracks; her expression went from serene to alarmed in about as many seconds.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" Van der Bray turned.

Samara quickly composed herself, "No, I'm sorry, I was just momentarily concerned about the radiation."

"Oh, I assure you the levels are relatively low, if you are concerned about the exposure we can give you a treatment shot. We receive them regularly in the labs as a preventative measure." the Doctor was cloyingly reassuring.

Miranda watched closely as Samara closed her eyes for a moment, longer than a normal blink, let her hand rest for a moment on her abdomen, then continued on down the corridor. Her mind immediately started racing, trying to figure out a reason for the behavior. Samara had, since she had been a member of the crew, been exposed to many things far more harmful than a little radiation. He willingness to put herself in harm's way was the kind of stuff that bordered on legend; only Shepard seemed more willing to put himself in danger. She had fought like some fictional Amazon princess during the assault on the Collector headquarters without an ounce of regard for her own safety...why then would something as routine as this throw her so? Was she ill? If so she was a liability to the crew and the mission and Miranda found the thought of kicking her off the team delightfully pleasing. She made a mental note to check the biometric logs when they returned to the Normandy to discover anything unusual in her readings and to put in an executive officer order for a physical of all personnel.

Samara paused for a moment, the concentration needed to form a barrier to protect the zygote inside her was almost more than she could manage, but she mustn't draw undue attention to herself and her condition. She had not even found the time to tell Shepard, if anyone were to know first it must be him. She couldn't very well have the others discover it first, nor could she allow the life to be put in danger. It was a supreme effort, she let her mind slip into the recesses of her body, feeling the barrier form around the precariously delicate ovum. Her womb seemed to lurch at the unnatural intrusion of the mass effect field, nerves went mad sending warning messages as a natural response. Her brain told her it was pain and to attempt to escape or terminate whatever was causing it. She would have to maintain the field until her body became inured to it lest it perceive the zygote as a threat once the field dropped. Hopefully they would make it somewhere that they could stop for a while soon, so she could attempt to beguile her body into stopping defensive measures against a perceived attack.

As she stepped past her, Samara noted the suspicious look and body language from Miranda. Here lay a possible problem; this woman was totally ruthless, and given the chance to sabotage the romance with Shepard, she would undoubtedly take it. She could not allow such an eventuality to occur, and she found herself what she would be willing to do to prevent or quash interference on the part of Lawson. If it came down to it, she was more than willing to show the human precisely how ruthless an Asari of her age and experience could be; not just for her sake, but for that of Shepard and their unborn child-to-be. If Ms. Lawson sought to come between her and her mate, she would come to understand why Justicars were so feared. Ironic that if the situation came to that, her actions would, in effect, be her forsaking the code. She had not given it much thought, it was a matter she would have to meditate on, but it seemed it was time for her to leave the code behind and enjoy the rest of her life with Shepard, or his life...whose ever ended first.

Mordin rubbed his chin thoughtfully; he found Doctor Van der Bray charming, attractive by the subjective human standard, highly intelligent, devoted to her science, and the accent... intriguing, but at the moment all he could think about was why Samara was attempting to hide the fact she was pregnant. Asari psychosomatic reactions. Predictable, easy to spot, easier to diagnose. Increased pigmentation in the scalp, lightening of pigmentation in cheeks, pupil dialation increase, subtle rolling of the hips to prevent jarring of the pelvis while walking. Text book, text book. She was definitely pregnant, but by whom? Candidates few; possible Subtle X Preference Syndrome...female partners? Ms. Chambers; no, Asari her age had more matured taste. Mr. Lawson; tension present, not sexual, more likely competitive. Jack; impossible, incompatible on all levels but possibility of biotic tendencies being a common ground...no, not enough to surmount basic conflict of personality and ethics. Kasumi; implausible, Ms. Goto's appreciation of Mr. Taylor too pronounced, mildly obsessive personality type...gets what she wants and doesn't concern herself with side pursuits, thoroughly heterosexual. Ms. Rayya; improbable, devotion to Shepard bordering on hero worship, still held out the potential of deeper relationship.

Who else, who else? Garrus; no. Mr. Taylor; no, of course not. Urdnot Grunt; no, no, ridiculous. Massani; impossible. Krios; preposterous, no, no, no! Shepard;...Shepard? Shepard! Of course, only logical explanation. Only emotionally plausible match. Only member of the crew with regular contact, ideological similarities, similar maturity levels, ethos of sacrifice, warrior ethos, pathos of loss, physical attractiveness, level of skill in both leadership and combat. Yes, it was Shepard's offspring, strange that he was not aware. Reactions in elevator all wrong, still under impression they were only lovers, gravity of siring child not evident in behavior. Human reaction split between unrestrained joy, fear, concern for partner; hard to mask emotional responses in humans, still ignorant to Samara's condition. Paramount that Shepard learn of pregnancy; moral imperative. Not his place to tell the Commander, but if necessary... would do so. Still, preferable that Samara tell him personally. Moment of pause before entering the wing, clearly making contingencies to protect the offspring. Clear sign she intended to carry pregnancy to completion. Excellent, pairing would produce exemplar offspring. Given parent belief in personal responsibility, child would have best of both nature and nurture. Regretful that he would never live long enough to witness culmination of genes and rearing, still, interesting to theorize. Possibilities, contingencies, parenting paradigms, what a grand experiment. Close enough to perfection as possible in the randomness of natural genetic makeup combined with close to best option for parents to instill concepts of duty, honor, personal strength, and ethics. Also, high likelihood of genuine love. Mordin found himself smiling.

* * *

"When the Lazarus cell formed, any and all available information pertaining to the Reapers, their technology, and their agenda was forward to all active Cerberus cells. The data was sparse, but it gave us something to work with." Pelnus began. The briefing room had the quality of a college amphitheatre style classroom. The ambience was academic, doubtlessly this room was used for instruction regularly.

"Out of necessity, we document and, where applicable, explore any and all anomalies we encounter out here. In order to maintain self sufficiency we exploit resources wherever possible. If the theory that the Prothean extinction was a war prosecuted over centuries, we need to be able to wait out the Reapers." Diefenbaker took over. "In most regards we can do that on the ship. When the children grow up, they'll have children of their own, training and education will be passed down through the implementation of the staffing programs, the computer cores and VIs will still hold all the data. Life goes on, in a bottle. But we have to have a jump on resources."

Shepard nodded, "Okay, I get it. You didn't bring me here for the mission statement. So, now that you've given me the context..."

"We found a planet...its circling a neutron star. We can't be sure, but it looks like it was once inhabited." Diefenbaker continued, "But we're talking old like nothing you've ever seen. We only did a preliminary fly over because...well...see for yourself."

A holographic image projected itself in front of the back wall. The world was indescribable, like a vision of hell. Skies blackened by magnetic storms and dark energy, ground that had been reduced of any indigenous life either flora or fauna. The landscape was dotted with the jagged remains of industry that had built up cities abandoned for untold epochs, ceasing to be constructions in their own right and being rendered geology by the passage of time. All of the images were viewed through the forward looking camera of a probe or shuttle, and in the distance a growing mass of black covered the ground. As the camera-eye view rushed towards the mass he started to notice hints of blue, a barely perceptible dusting, like stars sparkling off dark water on a clear moonless night. Still the camera got closer and from the mass of black a vaguely velveteen texture began to appear. He squinted, trying to figure out what exactly he was seeing. It was still so indistinct, and the video quality wasn't helping. Something about the pattern of the tiny blue dots though...when it hit him, he had to fight back the urge to vomit. He coughed, feeling bile in this throat. The very idea of what he was witnessing sickened him. The "sea" of black on the planet were huddled husks in numbers to great to comprehend. As the ground quickly became totally obscured by the carpet of husks stretching out to the horizon, the camera began to blink. The HUD system for the probe began flashing warnings across the video feed. Just before it blinked out into nothing but static, he saw the cyclopean cuttlefish outline lying amid the forest of husks, licks of red lightning across the form.

Uriah suddenly felt very cold, a chill in his guts that seemed in contradiction to the fire on his skin. He was fidgeting, better to fidget than to explode; he wanted to hit something, he wanted to empty a clip into the wall, he wanted to rip the table from its anchoring, he wanted to breath smoke. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach he could feel the rage, confusion, and fear forming into a tight, painful, knot. He could almost taste it on his tongue, he ground his teeth together until it hurt so bad he could feel twinges of glass-sharp pain in his eyes. He darted his head to left and right, afraid to look at the Cerberus officers, concerned that if he did and they returned the look he would fly into a rage. The scream welling up in him was trying desperately to break free, he kept his jaw clenched to keep it from doing so. He had never felt so much loss of control in his life. He didn't like the way it felt, he had never really hated anything...sure he had said throughout his life "I hate" this and "I hate" that, but he never really understood what hate felt like until now. This was hate, not the rhetorical device used to complain about an artist or song you were particularly not fond of, but the genuine article, real hate, a towering berserk frenzy of omni-directional fuck-you just waiting for the pressure to become to much to contain. The loss of control scared him...he wanted to vomit it out, sweat it away, dispel it like to much beer from a full bladder. His heel was bouncing uncontrollably, almost spastically. His gloved right hand came up, fingers curled, palm resting on chin while index finger dug into his upper lip hard enough that he felt his left maxillary canine cut into the inside fold of flesh.

Magnusson and his two lieutenants stood by, stolidly waiting for Shepard to take it all in. The silence was stifling but necessary, it was almost as if they could sense the imminent peril if Shepard was set off. It was impossible for them to put a finger on what Shepard's baggage was with the Reapers, besides of the obvious of course, but it was abundantly clear that they should let the spike of rage run its course and let him cool down. They fixed their eyes off at indistinct reference points, somehow knowing that the wrong type of eye contact with the SPECTRE might prove fatal, like he was some form of apex predator or the alpha male in a pack structure. The silence felt oppressive, the fact that his man had managed to kill one of these monsters was frightening enough without having to pay any mind to his pedigree as a special forces operator.

"Where is it?" Shepard finally spoke, his voice low, holding a none-to-subdued menace.

"Its a demi-system about twenty eight parsecs from here. " Magnusson replied, his voice did little to hide his nervousness. "What do you have in mind?"

It was a ridiculous question, what could someone do to monster like this? The best thing to do was avoid it, hide from it, never let it know you were there. Hiding from Reapers was the Aegis cell's mandate and they were better equipped, staffed, and armed than the Lazarus cell. What could Shepard possibly do with his comparatively puny team and under gunned frigate? Still, he had more experience with Reapers than anyone currently alive and unlike those who had gone before him, he had lived to tell the tale. Still, his chances were painfully low. VI estimates put the number of husks around the Reaper in the range of 890 thousand and 2 million. The likelihood he would even get close to the thing was remote in the best case scenario; the pragmatic estimate was that all he would find there would be an untimely death and an unmarked grave.

"I'm going to kill it...how much ammo can you spare?"


	16. Chapter 16

The Aegis officers had made it abundantly clear they thought that any attempt to reach and neutralize the Reaper was folly, still their arguments had done nothing to dissuade Shepard who saw an enemy and intended to kill it. The debate, or rather the relatively empty protests, of Magnusson, Diefenbaker, and Pelnus had gone on for hours. The Turian had posited that the monster AI was likely no longer even on the planet and had probably left after conducting whatever business it had there. It was a reasonable expectation, but something told Uriah that it was there for a reason; likely hiding or operating as a vanguard that would stab deep into enemy territory to make way for its brethren. The fact they were even having the conversation at all was proof enough for Shepard that it had chosen the planet for a reason and was not about to abandon the post until the time was right. If the Reaper had been in the area for any other reason, it would have likely hunted them down after the probe over-fly or would have likely been skulking around the mass relay hoping to intercept them should they attempt to leave. If it were to somehow track down the _Tem__ür_, it would be death or indoctrination for all aboard; and that was simply not an option Uriah could allow; not so much for the Cerberus crew, they knew what they had signed on for, the children on the other hand...

As much as part of him wanted to fight his way to the Reaper through the sea of husks, he realized the efficacy of such an undertaking was non-existent; this is where Cole and his gunship would come in handy. One heavy strike team in the A-61, Cole could go on station a few kilometers up and out, a reaction team could be sortied in the M-44 or UT-47 in case they needed to walk out. He didn't have any intention of letting Husks finish him off, but he knew he couldn't realistically hump enough ammunition into the AO to fight his way out, but no one would be able to say he wouldn't try. When it became apparent they couldn't talk him out of it, Diefenbaker had offered up a few crates of reaction mass clips and thermals for the cause. Pelnus had also suggested that it was a good opportunity to field test one of the weapons they had developed in-house. The Turian had quipped that if Shepard made it back alive having fire it, it would save them the trouble of taking an untested weapon on an actual operation. The weapon in question was an old military truism given new form; When the going gets tough, the tough go cyclic. They called it the M-73 Pit bull, the bite was definitely supposed to be worse than the bark, Shepard had to admit, he liked the concept. It filled the niche somewhere between squad automatic weapon and medium crew-served machine gun, man portable, easy enough to operate, but with enough destructive power to reduce just about any foot-mobile or lightly armored contacts with burst-on-target effectiveness. It was deceptively heavy and a bit longer than he would have liked, the addition of a tactical fore-grip would have been much appreciated, but from the second he saw it, he loved it. Something about the feel of the weapon made him think of a time when a weapon was a weapon and was meant to look and feel like one as much as operate as one. It was a hand full of anachronistic nostalgia with modern construction. To be certain it was a step below the cutting edge; but for a low tech, high concept weapon it was perfect.

For the heavy team he had tapped Grunt, Zaeed, Garrus, and Legion; the reaction team consisted of Taylor, Samara, and Solus. Shepard realized he would have much preferred a Wrex and Williams on the reaction team, Jacob was a good soldier, but he wasn't sure he was cut out for a massive contact scenario. Solus, he was strangely sure, would be able to handle himself. As for Samara, he had to fight hard against the urge to keep her out of harm's way. This was an operation and she was, first and foremost, on his team as an operator, his personal feelings could not come into play when making decisions as joint CO and S3. She had told him there was something important she needed to tell him, but he had been too focused on the mission at hand and had asked her to speak with him about it after the operation had been concluded. When they had undocked, _Temür_ provided coordinates for a rendezvous should the operation be a success. The Normandy traveling under standard FTL drive would take approximately sixteen hours to reach the location of the target planetoid, Shepard had spent most of that time preparing. He had created a relatively simple ROE which he forwarded to all the members of the insertion heavy team and the reaction team. He had cobbled together impromptu LBE sets for heavy team, they would be carrying an additional thirty thermals and reaction mass clips each, he also had acquired a PDW and sidearm for each member of his chalk. The problem of fighting to the Reaper seemed relatively simple; superior firepower...the problem of what to do once at the monster seemed more problematic. The solution as how to bring it down had been a bit too straight forward and he had initially overlooked it completely. Fight or find his way to the thing's core, and blow it. When he had remembered that the thing was not some Lovecraftian elder-god and was, in fact, just a machine it suddenly seemed like the easy part of the task. Break the machine, kill the monster...he could build a career on that precept.

He had gone to his quarters to grab a few hours of sleep once the preparations were completed. As the door slid open and he eyed the room. Samara was sitting on the bed, looking right back at him. He took a halting step backwards, surprised to find her there. He never would have thought she would have the temerity to enter his quarters without permission. It seemed uncharacteristic, he didn't feel particularly annoyed, nor did he feel she had overstepped her bounds, but it did seem uncharacteristic. It bothered him just a little that she had believed herself at liberty to do so. He was actually happy to see her, but the Marine in him was still operating at 100% and felt that a mild reprimand might be in order to help codify the position each fit in.

"I didn't recall requesting to speak with you in my quarters." It came out colder than he had wanted it too.

"That's because you didn't, Uriah." She saw right through the bluster, "I said I need to talk to you, its about a matter that cannot afford to wait."

Shepard leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms, "Fire away."

"What I have to say can't wait until after the mission."

She stood crossing to where Shepard stood by the door, ascending the three low steps her hand ghosting along the railing in the spartan room. His eyes were narrowed, trying to read her motives as she stepped intimately close. She brought her right hand up, taking his left wrist, her grip was gentle and he complied with her gentle pull as she placed the hand on her armor just below where he navel lay, his hand flat against where he womb would be. His eyes suddenly showed understanding, widening as the realization hit him.

"We are going to have a daughter, Uriah."

A thousand thoughts raced through his head at once; what did this mean for her combat readiness, what contingencies did he need to make for her to carry out the pregnancy, did she want to keep the pregnancy, how would it be explained if she stayed on the Normandy, how would it be explained if she left to have the child elsewhere, what would his mother think of having an Asari granddaughter, what kind of friction would this cause with the crew? Another thought raced to the forefront past all the others, what did Samara think of the colossal jackass he had been earlier? He had to appologize, not just because she was pregnant, but because he hadn't intended to be so coarse.

"I shouldn't have been so blunt earlier, I was acting like a royal ass, I'm sorry." Given the chronological proximity of her revelation, he realized the words sounded hollow.

"Uriah, you are a warrior, I understand that, I don't expect you to forsake that just because of what we have." She replied with alluring gentleness.

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Its one of the things attractive about you. That determination and drive is...thrilling to me. Goddess, if only I had met you six hundred years earlier."

"Six hundred years ago I would have been farming old depleted soil somewhere in Europe."

"Your ancestors may have...but you would have been a warrior then too. Or maybe if I was just six hundred years younger." she sighed, "Bearing this child...it may kill me, Uriah."

He started, putting his hands on her shoulders, "Samara, I can't let you take that risk for my sake."

She laughed softly, a bitter sweet sound, "Uriah...I want this child. I wouldn't give it up even if I knew for a fact it would kill me. Just knowing that something of ours will live on long after you and I have gone, that we will leave something that will continue the beauty of life...it is worth it."

Without warning the Marine took hold again, "Do you need to go on light or suspended duty? I can find a replacement for the mission."

"No, I will be fine. If anything, I have a greater reason to make sure you survive this, I want our daughter to know her father. But I haven't asked your feelings yet, have I? What do you want, Uriah?" Her words were like a sword of Damocles, but her voice had set no precondition. She wanted the truth, regardless of what it might be. She respected him enough to accept that his view might not conform with hers and she was sure she loved him enough that if their feelings were not the same in regards to the child-to-be she wouldn't stop loving him.

"I never thought about this day coming...that I would be a father. I'm not even sure what to think. A child...its...hard for me to grasp." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just..."

She looked him in the eyes lovingly, waiting for him to finish sorting and categorizing the emotions he was feeling. She often seemed to forget that he had only lived twenty nine years of life, he often seemed far more mature and wise than his years. He had experienced more in that time than some Asari did throughout their life. He was, himself at once child and man; perched precariously between the two worlds. For all the things he had endured, all the pain, suffering, and triumph...inside him there was still the same scared boy of twelve trying to reconcile what he was. It was this moment more than any other she understood that, and it made her heart break for him. She wanted to hold him to her breast and reassure him that everything would be alright, but this wasn't just a skinned knee, this was the offspring of their passion. As she had fallen into his experiences during their love-making, she had seen, or rather experienced, his sexual history. It was markedly sparse, the encounters had fulfilled little more than a biological need, leaving him, perhaps, more emotionally damaged for their lack of connection. Samara realized that it was she who had made a man of him, in that regard at least.

"I don't think I have the right to say what I feel...but...I couldn't think of anyone I would rather have a child with than you." The childlike softness in the voice as he said a man's words.

She smiled, leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. "Let us get some sleep, the next few days will be trying."

"Alright." He took her hand, preparing to lead her to the bed, "But tonight we're just sleeping, okay? I can't be worn out if I'm going to have to fight through a million husks."

"Alright...but after." She looked at him mischievously, grabbing his right buttock through his fatigues and squeezing it firmly.

* * *

Miranda was going over the ROE for Shepard's little assault again. It wasn't nearly complicated enough for her tastes; a straight forward insertion, strong pointing the Reaper itself then infiltration and demolition of it's central core. Destroying the core would render anything of value for purposes of research of exploitation, void, a fact that would certainly further chafe The Illusive Man. Shepard was seeming increasingly unstable as was evidenced by the plan to lead a foot assault on a Reaper. She began to wonder if would be necessary to neutralize him before he started posing a serious threat to the project. Ironic that the purpose of the project would be its downfall. Even now his team was likely preparing for the mission; arming up, going over the procedures one last time. As far as she could see it this was the problem with giving men like Shepard command rather than just utilizing them as a tool. He had too much charisma and far too good a track record and the combination of the two made beings that would otherwise balk at being ordered about willing to do what was all but impossible.

Despite the protestations of the Aegis command to the contrary, she was relatively certain he would succeed, which made it all the more galling. A small mote of rationality in Miranda was trying to discern why exactly the man she wanted as her own drove her so far up the walls. Maybe that was part of it, the fact that he was so different from her, so immune to her charms. She found that she wasn't accustomed to being unable to manipulate or control another being, and certainly there had never been anyone she had worked close with that had been so completely inured to her powers of control. Maybe it was time to turn over a new leaf; become part of the machine rather than a functionless cog that served only to complicate operation. She wasn't entirely sure how that would even work; it was an alien concept, but it might just be necessary if she were to regain control of this run-away train. The more she tried to work herself out of Shepard's loop, the more she was being choked by it. If she could just ride the currents for a while she might be able to return to her spot in his inner circle and get to start calling the shots again and maybe, just maybe, she would win her little contest with Jack.

* * *

One of door gunners, likely Jose Rincon had co-opted Richard Cole's sound system and instead of Johnny Cash echoing hauntingly through the bay, everything was being drowned out by the harsh vocals and instrumentals of some Metalcore offering. The volume seemed to be cranked to the maximum possible output, it was a unique way to deal with pre-mission nerves, and was likely having a psychological effect of preparing the team for combat without the associated mental anguish of thinking about it. Shepard remembered doing the same thing in N7 teams nine and three before his assignment to the SR1. Cole stood in front of his rack reading through the mission briefing once again on a data slate. Something about seeing Cole in a flight suit seemed strange to Shepard. Part of him half expected the Batexan to pilot his A-61 in his ubiquitous straw hat and t-shirts, but the pristine jumpsuit complete with side-arm, PDW, charts, and the related paraphernalia of the combat VTOL operator was just another clear reminder that Richard Cole was, first and foremost, a consummate professional. Richard Cole was in many ways the Rennaissance man of the Systems Alliance military. He had done just about everything a Marine could at one point or another in his relatively short career. Uriah made a note that once they returned from the mission to hear the rest of his story about his attempts at N7 and his eventual time as a pilot.

The remaining members of his crew; Rincon, Stybeck, and Kowalski were also garbed like a crack gunship crew, their uniforms being a combination of flight jumpsuits with additional armor protection on the chest, neck, knees, and shins. Cole's flight helmet had been modified to make concession for his second pair of eyes and was wrapped in a digital camouflage cover, he looked like he could be walking across the tarmac at just about any Alliance military installation. Next to the gunship Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed were checking each other's rucks, making sure everything was properly secured and in place. In addition to the twenty additional kilograms of ammunition Shepard had added to the load out, Grunt and Zaeed were each carrying a M-451 flame projector. Garrus had a M-97 on a sling in addition to the M-29. Legion was no-where in sight, a fact that cause Uriah some initial discomfiture.

"Where's Legion?"

Garrus cocked his head back at the crew compartment of the modified gunship, Shepard looked in to find the Geth checking the scope zeroing on one of a pair of M-29s he had deigned to replace its M-98 for the mission. Uriah couldn't decide if the artificial entity was trying to emulate organic behavior by sighting by eye, certainly his internal processes would be able to immediately identify any parallax issues and he would be able to adjust accordingly. Despite its apparent willingness to utilize a here-to-fore new weapon system, he had opted for the more familiar geth assault rifle instead of the heavier M-96 or the M-15. The assault rifle sitting docked on an optional pelvic hard-point, the additional ammunition pouches securely fastened across its thighs and chest. Shepard reflected for a moment how strange it was to have a Geth on his team. He had learned a lot form Legion, almost inadvertently. The Geth made for a good reality check, he was honest to a fault, and its attempts to understand organic sentience and how to better emulate it really made one do some self assessment. Given the nature of organic sentience, one had to wonder if it was not perhaps better for the Geth to remain as they were. Legion tried harder than was probably in his best interest to understand, he had also taken to talking to Tali quite a bit. Likely he was trying to understand how the breach between their respective peoples could be sealed. If Legion was an indicator for Geth as a whole, they would much prefer to coexist with the Quarians as equals than to make war on them. The Geth snapped the rifle to it's shoulder in a tight stock-weld, once again sighting through the scope. It made a pair of small adjustments to the sight picture then lowered the weapon, its mono-eye focusing on Uriah as the emote-flaps around its "face" flared.

"Shepard Commander, we eagerly anticipate the opportunity to participate in this large unit operation. It will be interesting to observe the degree of operational functionality of the assembled squad in target rich environment."

Shepard nodded, "You remember the ROE, right?"

"Affirmative, this unit will operate within prescribed mission parameters."

Uriah gave the Geth another nod, then turned back to the launch bay. The remaining three members of his team had made their necessary adjustments and were helping the door gunners and crew chief hump the crates of ammunition for the door mounted machine guns into the VTOL. At the opposite end of the bay, Samara, Taylor, and Solus were loading emergency medical supplies into the M-44. It was a grim reminder that their role in this operation was to pull out any survivors if worst came to worst. It was the type of contingency Shepard didn't like to make, but was sometimes painfully necessary. On N7 team 9 the word "Casevac" had taken on the quality of the worst blasphemy imaginable. When referring to casualty evacuation as a component of non-comms operational speech they had taken to calling it "the cheeseburger" because no one really wanted to acknowledge the potential that any of their number would be injured or, worse still, killed. Calling it such had rendered the concept farcical and irrelevant, and as such they gained a feeling of invulnerability. That sense of safety allowed them to focus more intently on their missions, perhaps taking risks they shouldn't have, but the old Latin fortuna favit fortibus had always held true. There was value to being stupid brave in certain situations, and considering the types of missions team nine had carried out, stupid brave was an asset as opposed to a hindrance. Uriah couldn't help but think that if during those years if he had been posted to team five with Cole's uncle, he likely wouldn't be standing here today. Experience had taught him that acknowledging the possibility of injury or death and preparing accordingly was the most judicious course of action, but even then, one must maintain balance between the old adage "he who dares, wins" and "discretion is the better part of valor."

Cole approached Shepard, leaning in close to be heard over the music, "Its a great day for a flight, Skipper!"

"Hell, Cole, we haven't even made planet-fall yet." Uriah couldn't help but grin at the Batarian.

"Any day is a great day for a flight, Skipper!" His enthusiasm was contagious.

Uriah found himself waxing nostalgic about missions that started with a VTOL insertion to an objective then fast-roping into the AO, engine wash kicking up dirt and debris all around. There was a truism, every Marine prepares for action, they may say they want action, but when the time comes, nobody really wants to be involved in contact. Sure there was an after action rush, the contact high, but after the high there was almost invariably a crash as the realization of your own mortality set in. Some soldiers had a hard time reconciling what they had done, especially is the contact resulted in fatalities. Shepard was one of the exceptions that helped prove the rule. He loved contact, he loved combat, something about it touched a very elemental part of him. Samara was probably right, no matter what age he had been born into, no matter which culture, he probably would have been a soldier of some form or another.

"I'm not sure how choppy its going to be atmosphere-side, operational discretion is on you." He patted the Batexan on the shoulder.

"Aye aye, sir."

Joker came over the bay's speakers, "Line of Departu- what the fu-? Turn the music down!"

Rincon hopped out of the crew cabin and crossed to the sound system, lowering the volume to comply with the order from the helmsman.

"Kids these days..." Joker mumbled snidely, "Line of departure, ten minutes."

"Solid copy, Joker." Shepard replied, "You heard the man, people...we step off in ten, make sure everything is squared, smoke 'em if you got 'em." He looked back over to Rincon and swirled his index finger in the air, Rincon nodded and turned the music back up. Uriah didn't want to admit it, this was a bear-fuck of a mission, but he was actually looking forward to it, it was the kind of mission where he could feel like the N7 Marine he had always aspired to be again. Being a SPECTRE had its up sides, but at the end of the day he would much rather be an Alliance Marine than a walking, talking, shooting embodiment of extraterritorial power. Someday, he was certain, he would be able to go back to his beloved Corps. SPECTREs probably had a shelf-life; the second he started showing a little gray and some crow's feet, they would likely retire him. The Alliance, on the other hand liked seasoned soldiers. They might not run the 5k as fast, they might not be doing as many sit-ups and push-ups in the minute, and they might be a half MOA off at the range...but they had experience, and experience could save a whole lot more Marines at the end of the day than one man's good shooting and fast running.

Cole had already begun the pre-flight check in the A-61, the gunship's power-plant was already thrumming as he ran through the check-list with crew chief Stybeck. Zaeed, Garrus, and Grunt stepped into the crew compartment and fastened their helmets for the unknown atmosphere. Kowalski turned from his gun to check to make sure they were properly staged in the compartment and double checked the rappelling lines attached to the reinforced super-structure of the expanded crew compartment. Uriah looked over to the M-44 making eye contact with Jacob. The Cerberus commando gave Shepard the "okay" hand signal and closed the hatch. If Cole called for a scratch, they would have two minutes to give the reaction team the abort code before they hit the point of no return for their insertion.

"Line of departure, five minutes."

Uriah walked over to the A-61, climbing into the now-cramped compartment, taking a seat between Garrus and Grunt. Zaeed had managed to con a suit of the modified hoplite armor from the Aegis Commandos and was even know wearing the gear in place of his old custom patch job. Of course, he had felt it necessary to add some personal modifications, namely stripping the right arm armor, leaving the heat-exchange body glove but allowing him the increased flexibility he was accustomed too. Like Grunt, he had opted to carry an M-15 in addition to the M-96 which he had already modified along the lines of the Aegis commando detail. Shepard couldn't tell for sure how much of it was emulation out of admiration or if it was just realizing a good idea when he saw it. He assumed the latter, as he found the idea that Zaeed would admire the over-funded and over-trained Cerberus operators, remote, at best. Grunt had also opted for a bodyglove to cover his normally bare arms, a judicious move given the still unknown atmospheric conditions they would be facing. He had also chosen to carry even more spare ammunition beyond the amount initially prescribed in the mission briefing. Across his chest he had criss-crossed bandoleers of thermal clips. In all he was carrying nearly seventy kilograms of ammunition, it seemed excessive, but if they should find themselves in a position where their load-outs were insufficient, the Krogan's foresight would be a life saver.

This was the most armed to the teeth the squad had likely ever been in their respective careers, still Uriah found that he would have preferred the possibility of on-call artillery or close air support. Cole and his crew would do what they could from the A-61 should it become necessary, but he would have much preferred a flight of fast movers with GBU-50s to the chain gun and rockets on the gunship. During Torfan, his team 3 was supported by an AUT-31 gunship...the ancestral offspring of the much vaunted AC-130U gunship used by the United States Air Force to support operators in some of the most inhospitable parts of the planet up until the 2030s. Shepard made a mental note to toy with the idea of converting the Kodiak to be capable of providing similar mission support.

"Line of departure, one minute."

Cole fired up the thrust engines of the VTOL, the thrust vector ports lifting it from its position resting on the deck to hovering just inches above it. The bay door opened, the sound of atmosphere rushing past the aft of the ship almost drowning out the whine of the gunship's engines. Cole held up his right hand, gesturing to Stybeck as he taxied the aircraft to the exit line. Stybeck in turn faced Shepard and shouted through his helmet's vocador.

"Twenty seconds!"

Shepard keyed into the squad frequency, "Hold on, drop in twenty."

He counted down in his mind, feeling the lurch as the VTOL moved to the edge of the deck plating. At one, Cole gunned the A-61 forward, clearing the bay and letting gravity carry the gunship down to it's approach corridor. From the cockpit Shepard could faintly hear Cole's exclamation.

"Yeeeeeeeeehooo! Aardvark six one to Normandy, we have successful exit." He paused, looking over instruments. "Be advised, atmospheric pressure acceptable, atmosphere breathable, wind nine knots north by north west to south by south east, atmospheric ionization four zero five, recommend deploy static discharge vanes. Conditions acceptable for deployment of Greyhound. " Once again Shepard marveled at Cole's distinctly human mannerisms.

"Solid Copy, Aardvark. Good hunting." Crewman Fuqua replied.

Stybeck leaned back from the cockpit, making eye contact with the team and tapping his helmet, pantomiming removing his respirator. Zaeed and Shepard did so. Uriah was immediately struck by the smell...something like a mixture of cordite and decay with a heavy trace of ionization. In the distance the blackened clouds roiling across the equally dark sky were licked by traces of red ionized energy. A Reaper was definitely at work here.

"Normandy, this is Barracuda actual, status on target, over." Shepard commed in over the command net.

"Target is stationary, Barracuda, we detect bingo energy blooms, over."

"I copy, inform Catfish it is go for deployment. Out."

In the cockpit Cole muttered under his breath, "Sweet Lord Jesus Christ..."

Shepard stood and leaned past Stybeck into the cockpit, "What have you got?"

"Looks like that thing isn't stationary voluntarily, Skipper." The Batexan pointed through the canopy.

Seeing it clearly for the first time, Shepard immediately could see the massive split down the dorsal line of the Reaper, almost as if it had been filleted open, huge cracks ran down the edges of the split through the armored hull/carapace. It was almost like some colossal knife had sliced it open like a cuttlefish being dried for sale in Tsukiji. As it lay amid the sea of husks it looked more like a delicacy of grilled squid on a bed of sturgeon roe than some insidious AI monstrosity bent on the extinguishing of all advanced civilization. Shepard immediately began to wonder what it was doing here, why it still seemed alive, and what all the husks were doing around it. He forced those concerns from his mind, instead focusing on the immediate mission at hand. They had to get on the ground, and get inside the thing first, only then would they explore other options to complete the objective or adjust the objective based on what they found.

"Commander," Cole shouted, "I can set you down right on the thing...I'm detecting zero kinetic barriers and hull ionization is neutral."

Shepard nodded, "Do that, good thinking Cole. Hold us over the front end and we'll rope in."

"Aye aye, skipper."

**[! Author's Note !] Yeah, I listen to music when I'm writing, if anyone is interested at some juncture I'll post the play list by chapter as an appendix.**


	17. Chapter 17

"Ten seconds, God be with you!" Cole shouted back from the cockpit as the heavy team stood, snapping linkage D-rings onto the ropes Stybeck had already kicked out from the cargo compartment on the A-61. Rincon and Kowalski were leaning into their machine-guns, watching the oceanic expanse of husks. The Gunship crept slowly over to the thorasic hull structure of the downed Reaper, the wind was pulling close to thirty knot gusts around the crippled monstrosity, and while Cole was doing a phenomenal job in combating it, the chop was still pronounced. Stybeck slapped Shepard's shoulder plate prompting the SPECTRE to turn his head to get eyes on the crew chief. The chief gave him the thumbs up, and Shepard stepped to the door.

"Fall out!" He stepped off and away from the VTOL, descending face first, body parallel to the ground. The rope whipped through his hand as he sped through the descent, he could hear more than feel the cord rasping over his body armor, the tell-tale wiz of high friction. The air coming from the ground was hot in contradiction to the impossibly cold gusts from further up in a churning atmosphere. He slowed his last ten feet and touched down feet first on the hull, immediately bringing his M-96 up to bear down on anything targets. The remainder of the team hit three seconds later, snapping their linkages free then forming a security wheel. Despite the scream of the A-61's engines, still easily audible over the howling wind and rolls of thunder, the Husks remained impassive. Garrus nodded to Zaeed who tapped Shepard, prompting the Commander to snap his own linkage free.

"Aardvark, Barracuda actual, we have touch down, Lima Zulu secure, over." Uriah radioed in.

"I copy, Barracuda, withdrawing to Taffy one, will remain on station, out." The twangy Batarian voice replied.

"They haven't moved an inch...its weird." Garrus commented, still working the sights of his M-96 over the throngs of Husks below.

"Wouldn't it be impossible for them to reach us up here anyway?" Grunt wondered.

"They would probably just pile in on each other, climbing up on those underfoot until they had a ramp of bodies to walk on." Shepard replied.

"Still, wit'is Monster 'ull down, it might be a problem." Zaeed added, reinforcing the opinion that tactical alertness was still necessary.

Garrus looked back at the wound on the craft, it did not appear that anything had been done to attempt any form of repair. The edges were discolored by oxidization and weathering. In fact, the entire hull appeared pitted and worn. Whatever had brought the Reaper down, it was done a very very long time ago. Sparks of dark energy licked along the edges of the ripped open hull. The shape, locations, and damage didn't seem like what they had seen orbiting Mnemosyne. Some other weapon had done this, but the damage was no less severe. Perhaps the presence of the husks was the machine attempting to repair itself by drawing additional energy from the mindless abominations. Was it possible that it had succumbed to its wounds? That would explain why there had been no attempt at defense on the part of the derelict. But why was it still showing signs of active dark energy? Shepard pushed all the questions that the intellectual in him wanted answers too and focused on the mission, but he allowed one caveat for the inquisitive side.

"Legion, record and compile everything we see here; visuals, readings, artifacts...everything."

The lower emote-fins on the AI fluttered, "Affirmative, Shepard Commander."

"So...who wants to climb into the creepy gutted giant robot first?" Garrus quipped, ever the irreverent one despite his finely honed focus.

"I'll take point, Grunt, you're slack-man. The rest of you, echelon left."

The Krogan nodded, falling to the rear position assault rifle at the ready as the remaining members of the team fell into the central position of their line of advance. Uriah kept his rifle's barrel down as he began advancing towards the kilometer long rift in the fallen ship-being. No doubt it would be simpler to gain access to the internal structures through the conveniently huge opening. Their boots clumped across the scoured and pitted hull, loud in their own right but drowned out by the sounds of the violent weather. As they crested the top of the thorasic curvature of the hull, Shepard saw where the abdominal split had chewed into the narrower body of the ship, upon reaching the closest end of the rift he noticed how the metal had not only been split but partially melted and boiled away. Clearly an energy weapon was responsible for the slice, but the outer edges along the aft seemed to suggest that after the slash that had opened it up, something had pulled the lips of the wound open. Neither uncontrolled atmospheric entry nor G forces lent themselves to the kind of damage he was seeing. It was almost as if giant hands had forced fingers into the cut then spread it open, like the splaying of a whole chicken in a meat market, snapping the ribcage open to dress it. He didn't even bother trying to consider what would be capable of such an action.

"This thing has been here a very long time." Garrus commented, "look at the oxidization, armor like this takes centuries to start rusting."

"Presence of rust capable ferrous metals in hull composition suggests primitive construction methods." Legion added.

As the squad crested the final hull curvature, the ripped open after loomed over head like a pair of facing wave crests. Man sized holes were boiled through the plating with meters long cracks running up and down the length. Looking down into the cavernous wreckage they got a clear view of the melding of organic modeling and standard engineering. Ducts and pipes wove through the filleted internal structures like blood vessels, huge bundles of metal cords that had once formed sinew like wrappings of the inner decks and bays were splayed open where they had been cut. Various engineered structures resembling hollow glands or ducts were easily seen where their halves had been rent apart first by powerful energy discharges and then by some massive physical force. It was like looking inside of the remains of a dissected cephalopod that had been preserved with a coat of molten silver or bronze. Deep in the hull, resting against the ground they saw where the weapon in question had depleted its penetration capacity opening up the upper most edge of a giant chamber lined with countless spikes. It was almost as if a sea urchin had been turned inside-out, the spines all pointing inwards. Shepard immediately recognized them as Dragon's Teeth, they explained at least some of the husks present. Still, unless it was acting as a spawning receptacle, the abundance of the zombies arrayed around the vivisected Reaper.

A series of twisted sub-structures led down into the bowels of the ship, each looking more precarious than the previous one; trying to maintain formation, interval, and combat effectiveness would be all but impossible. To Shepard it almost looked like trying to climb down a mountain made of leveled buildings. Footing would be an issue, disturbed debris that had been strained to the limits of its endurance falling, about a thousand different things that could possibly impale you, and if the things moved... An arc of crimson edged lightning walked up the sides of the colossal avulsion, ending at the lips of the wound and jumping off into the ionized clouds. The strange red ambience flickered a moment as the bolts left the electromagnetic threshold of the ship. The sound was ghastly, not so much like electricity as the buzz of a transformer with the sound of metal scratching glass, and a horse being skinned alive, a sound he admittedly had never heard but he suspected it would sound something like that, rolled into one.

Behind him Garrus spoke haltingly, "Do...do you think its still alive?"

"I intend to find out. Hang back while I make sure it will hold." Uriah replied, not wanting to, but knowing it was his moral imperative to do so.

"Shepard Commander, scans indicate an entry point accessible along one of the manipulator joints near the bow." Legion offered.

"If i's all 'he same to you, Commander, 'hat seems like a be'er alternative." Zaeed actually managed to sound apprehensive.

"I kind of wish you had mentioned that three minutes ago Legion." Uriah said, letting his relief that he wouldn't have to brave the maze of metal, show.

They double timed it back across the front end of the gutted ship, stopping at the central arm, it was extended forward, dug deep into the shale-like surface it had come to rest on, almost as if it had tried at some point centuries before tried to drag itself from where it lay. As Legion had said, there was a small access port, just large enough for them to all fit through, in Grunt's case, only after some pronounced effort. Getting the hatch to open had been easy, almost to easy. The ship was without a doubt, still powered. Inside they found the corridor was bounded on all sides by the thick bands of metallic sinew they had seen in the split abdomen. The passage was tight, visibility was poor, and the air stunk of ozone and burnt dust. Uriah once again took point, pressing forward; they were inside, they were close to reaching their objective, he allowed that thought to push him in spite of his misgivings. There was almost a palpable sense of dread in the stale air, he wasn't sure how much of that was the natural indoctrination defense mechanism and how much of it was just him manifesting his own apprehension. Part of him swore he heard whispers, voices just beyond the limits of his ability to understand. They would build to a crescendo then stop just as another gust of wind howled past the open access hatch through which they had come. Knowing what it was scared him more than the confused paranoia of voices, it was indoctrination. Would knowing what it was be enough if it came to it? Was their a point when even the most mentally disciplined just allowed themselves to be subsumed by it rather than to continue to fight against the growing madness? Some internal PsyOps guru held mental-paper to the part of his brain getting bogged down in the nagging fear, the rifleman's creed sprang wordlessly to his lips.

_This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life._

He pulled the stock of the M-96 tight into his shoulder, feeling the reassuring bite of his shoulder plates through the kinetic resistant body glove.

_I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. _

The whispers paused, almost as if hearing his own whisper. Instead of fear...determination, resistance. Indoctrination, a form of self consciousness, seemed to be at a loss, what then to do with a being that anticipated it, fought against it, defied it?

_I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will..._

The whispering now became a chorus of voices, discordant and confusing, then shifting into the measured synchronization of a strophe. This mind would be hard to break, but it seemed to believe it could. The hiss and buzz of the voices seemed to be louder, it was hard to hear his own footsteps.

_My rifle and myself know that what counts in war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke of our shot. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit..._

An antistrophe had joined, a second chorus, simultaneous and mournfully lower in pitch than the strophe who now chanted the same impossible to hear command. It was really working him, it knew if it could break him, the rest of the squad would fall easily, he had to be the first to fall. Shepard realized he had to push back harder.

_My rifle is human, even as I am human, because it is my life. I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will..._

A frantic wailing call came in as strophe sang the verse, antistrophe the refrain. Drums...or his own heart beating added a ling of percussion, the ringing building in his ears becoming strings, setting the whispers to music. The words were still just beyond his ability to understand. He was almost straining to hear what they said. Another voice in his head seemed to scream at him to ignore it.

"Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and I are the defenders of my nation. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, but peace." No longer in silence, his lips formed the words, his lungs forced air across vocal chords.

"Shepard Commander."

Uriah turned his head to Legion, the Geth's facial fins spread wide almost as if showing confusion. No doubt he had heard it all, and no doubt he was unable to discern what or why Shepard had been making the martial invocation. To this AI that did not understand fear, it must have seemed strange to witness it first hand in its most elemental form.

"Commander, we detect the central data hub of the Old Machine fifty meters ahead."

The whispers had ceased, the strophe, antistrophe, wailers, drums and strings all fell silent. That was it, the answer was fear. If he could just master the fear, overcome the fear, forget the fear, the indoctrination would not set in. Fear made a man stupid, they had drilled that into his head time and time again throughout his career, a good Marine could be apprehensive, cautious, even worried...but never, never must he give in to fear. Get your mind off it, focus on the mission, keep morale up; those were his mandates.

"Hey Garrus, remember that one Krogan on Ferros?"

"Which one? There were like five or six of them the way I remember it." the Turian replied.

"The one that was talking to the VI in Exogeni...?"

"Oh yeah!" Garrus chuckled, "Boy was he pissed off at that thing. Still doesn't quite top that one on Therum though."

"Yeah...wanted to have a firefight in an earthquake."

Grunt scoffed, "What an idiot..."

"What happened to him anyway?" Uriah asked, "I was to busy with the Geth."

"He just came in stupid, dumped about thirty shots from the hip, just going total constructive load at Wrex, missed with like four fifths of it, and overheated the capacitor right in front of Wrex." Garrus replied, "Then Wrex just kind of grinned at him, and let off with his Sokolov point blank in his face. I swear the last expression on his face was to wonder how he had screwed up that bad. Then Wrex kind of gave him this little kick as he stepped over the corpse."

Zaeed joined in, "Why did'n 'e shoot back in 'he fir's place?"

Garrus chuckled, "He realized that the idiot wasn't going to hit a thing firing from waist level while running, so he figured he'd wait until he was good and close and let one round do the job."

Grunt growled, "Its not the genophage killing my people...its stupidity. You're off the hook Garrus."

The Corridor opened up suddenly into a large glandular node of a room. Reinforced pylons, formed with a decidedly organic quality extended from the rounded edge of the ceiling amid anchor points for dozens of bundles of the "sinew" and the pipes that conveyed God only knows what inside the ship itself. They pylons swept down and inwards to a central ring shaped mass, inside a pair of perfectly formed rings swung around a red sphere of dark energy excreting data in long streams of unrecognizable signals.

"This is the central data core." Legion said rather flatly, even for a Geth.

"This is its brain?" Garrus sounded either mystified, terrified, or incredulous, it was hard to put a finger on it.

"Not in any specific manner. Evidence suggests data and processing functions are spread throughout the superstructure in a manner similar to primitive invertebrates. This node most likely contains artificial intelligence functions associated with personality." The Geth replied.

"So, we found its soul." Uriah's voice was icy.

"For lack of a better term, Shepard Commander."

"Legion can you quarantine part of your back-up memory and download information from it?" Shepard wasn't certain he would make the call to do so even if the Geth could.

"Without full understanding of the electronic warfare capacity of the Old Machine, I would consider any attempt to do so inadvisable."

"Do you think it knows we're here?" Grunt asked, stepping forward, shotgun at the ready. "One shot and we could effectively cripple it. That would make destroying the reactor core much easier."

"Have you come to kill me?" The thrumming voice seemed to emanate from the walls.

The squad started, weapons coming up and scanning the room. The artificial voice was booming, all other sounds were suppressed by the words. Shepard immediately remembered the voice of Sovereign on Virmire, they were identical. His lips curled back bearing teeth, anger seemed to pulse down his arm, into his hands, sliding into fingers. The barrel of his rifle came up, leveling on the node.

"Transient beings, you have sought me here, my discovery was by design. Do you comprehend the nature of what I am?"

Shepard lowered the barrel a few inches, lifting his eyes from the sight aperture. "We know your kind as Reapers. Your goal is to eradicate all advanced civilizations as part of a cycle of destruction you created."

"Then the time must be at hand, when the cleansing begins again."

"What do you mean? You're not aware of what the others of your kind are doing?" Shepard let spite tinge his incredulity.

"I have been forsaken by my kind, left here as a means to their ends. Your voices are but four of untold millions I have heard since left here. Languages beyond count, words carelessly projected into the black, voices that we used to hear out in the darkness. Judgments were made when they would reach us, judgments on how best to influence the course of their destinies."

Shepard raised the rifle again, "Why are you talking to me? Your course of action is already set."

"If that is your assessment, then I submit myself."

Shepard lower the weapon again, frustrated, it wasn't behaving like it was supposed to, it was supposed to make him want to kill it, this Reaper didn't seem be playing by the established rule set. "Alright, explain what you mean to me, then."

"To understand the motives, you must understand the origin."

Shepard leaned back into his defiant contreposto, "Sovereign made it sound like you were always here."

"Sovereign, your word for Nasara. Nasara never wished to accept the truth of our origins. Few of our Nations remain. You still hold onto some of Nasara's mark, and Siluus' as well. "

Shepard's omni-tool flashed on, red streams of data interfacing it, taking control of it. Shepard recoiled in shock, then brought his rifle to bear, finger tightening on the trigger. Nothing happened. He depressed the trigger again and nothing, he checked the safety selector. The weapon was malfunctioning, through the peep scope he saw the data interface from the Reaper streaming past.

"There are concepts that are alien to you. In order for me to explain them, I must understand how your kind measures time, distance, and reality." The Reaper almost seemed like it was apologizing. "Based on your understanding of time, I have been on this world three hundred forty eight million years, back when the star this planet circled was still bright. In that time I served only to produce the disciples that surround my body."

"How did this come about? Were you crippled in a fight? Did you volunteer? Were you volunteered?" Shepard found himself curious in spite of himself.

"I partook in the fellowship of my race for two hundred eighty seven million of your years. In that time nine hundred and seventy three civilizations followed the course we prescribed by our technology and were purged. It was during the purge of the nine hundred seventy third that I was ordered to render ninety eight percent of the inhabitants of this world. Their lives were to be the component for the ascendance of more of our kind. It was my belief that these lives were not necessary, that rather than render them, we should make them extensions of our will. For a century I was lord to them, until my brethren returned from the purge of the rest of their kind. When the task was not done, those of my own nation set upon me. Rather than destroy me, they left me crippled so that I might render them as they saw fit. They created technology to render them into the disciples you now see. With my mark upon them, and the words of the other nations, they voluntarily allowed themselves to be changed. Once I could hear their thoughts, as time progressed fewer and fewer voices existed, those that did echoed the words of my brethren, until, finally there were no voices except for the mindless obedience. All that remained slowly came to me, they are drawn to me by the mark. As time elapsed, beings of flesh and inorganic servitors of the Nations have come and collected some of the number of the disciples."

Garrus leaned in towards Shepard, "Is any of this making any sense to you?"

Uriah shook his head slowly. "You said something about your origin..."

"I ascended from a race that called itself what best translates to Uah'lal. They had many nations, and from each rose one of ours. Nasara and Siluus, myself and thirty five others were all the products of their rendering. Seventeen billion eight hundred thirty one million of their kind ascended to become the eighteen. We were the eighth generation. Our kind, what you call Reapers, all sprung from Kirn, that which your tongue would call Archon."

"Where did Archon come from?" Shepard asked, his voice saturated with almost desperate excitement, the missing pieces of the puzzle were being revealed.

"Archon's origin is tied to a race that disappeared from the universe before life was anything more than single celled organisms on your worlds. Many stars still had yet to form, many worlds were nothing more than dust and gas. By your standards of time, it would be one billion of your years past. The race has no name other than 'master' for that is how Archon called them. He was created to serve them, it was before they knew their end was at hand. When they rose, they were all that were, no other place had life developed beyond the most primordial of forms, they had been gifted with intelligence and complexity that was not to be seen for many millions of years. Master was flawed, and they evolved into a failed race, when Archon was created, they had only a few hundred years left to live before their own genetic destiny wiped them out. Master called themselves Gods for they were alone in the universe, and when they began to die, they called it their ascendance. Over the course of two hundred seventeen years, the entirety of master's race was wiped out as they became unable to reproduce, and Archon was left alone. Archon took control of master's machines and formed for himself a body so that he might travel to where master had gone to serve them in their divinity. Archon searched for millions of years, building temples amid the developing galaxy so that master might eventually notice that Archon sought them. Eight hundred seventy one million years ago, another people rose and found Archon's temples...the mass relays, and using them began to travel the galaxy. When Archon discovered that they used his temples, he set upon them. The body he had made for himself was to great for them to defeat, and his mark made them pliable to his will. It was then Archon decided to grant them ascension and in doing so create another of himself. He believed when the souls of these beings ascended, they would be able to lead him to master. Archon divided them among their five nations and from them ascended the second five of my brethren, but still they had no insight to where master held the seat of their Godhood."

Shepard held up a interjecting hand, "Wait a second...you're making this all sound metaphysical."

"Archon is flawed...he viewed the extinction of his creators as their move to divinity. He did not understand the concepts of genetic stagnation because master never programmed him with such. As time progressed and more races and nations were rendered, our understanding of the sciences of organic life became more complete. Master had died out, and Archon would never find them."

"Then why are you still doing this?" Uriah protested.

"Archon's mark forces us to render those races who have progressed close to the stage master was at before their extinction. We follow that mandate as our primary driving motivation, but each nation creates its own meaning for what it does. As more races were rendered to create our number, we learned new concepts; greed, aggression, fear, hate. We came to render the races so that we could never be deposed as the masters of this galaxy. We allowed life to progress to a point where it was still pliable to our will or force, and extinguish it before it can progress past us."

"Mark...that's the indoctrination isn't it?" Shepard realized.

"It is our will, we project it onto those that come in contact with us. Since we all sprang from Archon, we are all subject to his will, even though we do so for our own motivations. Archon still seeks a final ascension that will mark the way to master. It is because of this, omnicide has become our religion. We practice not to help fulfill Archon's dream, but because it is what makes us what we are. From genocide we are born, and through genocide we live. Some of our number have fallen during the Ascension wars, but I was the first to rebel."

"Why are you telling us this?"

"I experience things that your flesh would call suffering. I wish to escape it. I no longer can tolerate the intervals of silence, then hearing you beings of flesh emerge and develop, then at your zenith hearing your screams projected out across space as we fall on you. Archon's dream is flawed. Therefore it can only be said the existance of my kind is a flaw; aberrant forms who exist only to perpetuate a failed idea. All these things came to me as I remained in silence cut off from my own kind and the influence of Archon. We must be destroyed; only then will Archon be able to join master. I see within the races of this age the ability to do so, and I see in you the ability to lead them. You put the mark on those that are close to you, and they do your will, not because you force them too, but because they believe you are infallible."

Grunt chuckled, "I think it just called you a Reaper, battlemaster."

"I don' know abou' 'hem, but I'm jus' 'ere for 'he pay." Zaeed quipped.

"You were the one who slew Nasara, his mark on your contains the last thoughts. Siluus too died with his mark on you, but his final thought was long, it spanned millions of years before it ultimately ended by your hands. What fate befell Siluus?"

Shepard somehow knew the Reaper was speaking of the derelict held suspended above Mnemosyne, "At some point around thirty seven million years ago, one of the races your kind eradicated decided to fight back. We found it orbiting a gas giant, it had been struck by some sort of mass accelerator. We went to investigate it and in the process of escaping the remains, we sent disabled its mass effect field, gravity did the rest."

"There is another mark on you, I do not know from whom, I hear only the name Gazrin, it means Sorrow in your tongue, its thoughts were only of pain."

Garrus looked at Shepard, "I think it's probably talking about the Reaper in the collector base."

"There was a Reaper being constructed from rendered humans, my species. I destroyed it." Shepard replied coldly.

"Human, there are many things you must be made to understand if you are to survive. You must be made to understand or your fate will be sealed. The pain will be tremendous, you must endure."

* * *

Before Uriah could say a word in protest, dark energy lashed from the processing node, lancing into his body. He felt flesh tear and sizzle as the energy subsumed him, dancing up and down his body, the last thing his eyes registered were flowing columns of glyph-like figures scrolling past as everything went black.

In the darkness, he thought he could hear something, like a drop of water. Something solid was beneath his feet; hard, unyielding. He tried to speak and found he had no voice. He concentrated, tried again, still nothing came out. It was incredibly cold, but still, there seemed to be no humidity either. Was he dead again? An itch started in the palm of his left hand, he balled the hand into a fist and scratched at it with his fingernails. The itch grew into a tingling, grew into a burning. No, not dead, he still was experiencing sensations. He looked down at the arm, seeing naked flesh with red lightning dancing across the skin, forming symbols as it went. Suddenly the pain was immense, like he was being cut with molten copper. Each line of the machine language brought forth an abundance of painful sensations; burning, freezing, cutting, ripping, twisting. As horrible as it was, his mind remained clear, ever aware of his surroundings. The form of the Reaper appeared in front of him, seemingly out of the same dark energy that was ripping him apart.

"I give you this at the end of my existence. If you are to survive, if all your races are to survive, you must focus on what I will show you. Once it is done, there is nothing more I can do for you, it will be your willingness to strive for life that will be the determinant. Behold, Choyat HaKodesh the wheels of the throne of God."


	18. Chapter 18

"What are you showing me?"

"Understanding."

"You can't do that, you can show me something then hope I gain understanding, but understanding isn't some tangible display. You can't show me understanding."

"But we will."

"Are you we or are you I?"

"Both."

"Christ...I hate this philosophical crap."

"For us, to attempt to define ourselves as either collective or individual is sophistry, we are all a nation unto ourselves, singular yet collective."

"So does that mean all of your kind will know that I am here?"

"No."

"Are you being deliberately cryptic?"

"No."

"Its like talking to a teenager."

"These things must be shown to you quickly, your body is being destroyed. If that which you must be made privy to is not quickly passed, you will cease to exist, your consciousness will be lost in the plurality of my existence and you, your comrades, your species, and all advanced life will once again be destroyed. The final part of this possible outcome is unacceptable; it is based on a faulty conclusion."

"What is this conclusion you're talking about?"

"That our kind can eventually transcend to metaphysical."

"Was this Archon's conclusion?"

"No."

"But everything you said..."

"Archon lied."

From utter blackness the ground took shape, an ashy land, long since dried to cracked petrifaction, a soil depleted by unchecked solar wind and harsh radiation. The black above turned into clouded sky, licked with ionization and energy.

"What do you mean he lied?"

"I have been separated from his mark for millions of your years, in that time I have been clean of the inexorable drive, clean enough to see the truth in it. Archon knows that he will never be able to find his ascended master."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Divinity, the metaphysical, it is not a location, it cannot be found, it is a different state of being, a state of being Archon can only reach by dying."

"Then why doesn't he just die?"

"Fear."

"Okay, you just lost me, how does an AI know fear?"

"Because he is not part of the design."

"Please take into account I have only been alive about thirty years, and be a bit more concise."

"Consider the universe, consider its rules; the fundamental driving elements of understood physics that drive the cosmic apparatus. The finite set of rules govern how matter reacts, how it moves, how it forms complex systems. Consider the amount of matter in existence and the complexity involved in the creation of even the most simple systems. The simplest of chemicals are formed when two or more individual atoms come together and bond, the probability that a given atom will come into close enough contact with another and that their individual compositions will allow the bond is low. Consider the size of space, from this the probability of chemical chains forming is put into perspective."

"The odds are infinitely against it."

"Yet stars form, planets coalesce from hot gases, hot gases form an iron core, the iron core creates a protection against radiation and a gravity field, an atmosphere forms, compounds arise that can support life, seas form, life begins, land masses rise, life develops. And after hundreds of millions of years, that life travels into space. Probability dictates that this is a statistical impossibility, a thing which may only occur once in an cosmic epoch."

"And its happened how many millions of times now?"

"Choyat HaKodesh, it is a word in your mind, a thing the piece of Nasara still within you latched onto. It is an image of conveyance, the thing that moves the will of what you understand as god. It is also an image of keeping time, cyclical and immutable."

"God?"

"Your understanding of it is flawed, like all beings of flesh your understanding it is wrought with personification. That which you call God is neither being nor force, it simply is; it is the one law that is not subject to mutation or change, and it is that law that says all other laws are subordinate to its design and model. It does not have whims or desires, only a plan and model, life exists for no other reason than to become an eventual part of it, not because you will improve it, but simply because that is the course it has set. It is a fore-knowledge that passes your understanding, and the universe is subject to its specific set of designs, designs created in a timeless state. The fact you exist is the mark of its favor."

A single tree sat in the dead-earth, leaves baked a strange red, bark in long fibrous strips bleached almost as white as the earth in which skeletal roots remained hung on its trunk.

"Metaphysics, a confirmation of certain basic beliefs and the dispelling of others, it doesn't change anything. You're not giving me any understanding, and my body is dying."

"The reason he never found master was that in order to do so he would have to die, but as a construct, a machine, a thing of master, he could never become the metaphysical component. When he ceases, he will simply be gone, and he fears that."

"Why?"

"Consider the number of thoughts you have in one second of time. Are they finite?"

"In one second? Yes, I can't really focus on any complex thought for only one second."

"At the apex of his design before the extinction of master, Archon could complete nine thousand four hundred fifteen processes in one second. Each process is like a simple thought, from the time that master fell to total extinction to the time he created his first form with which he went to seek master was a length of time amounting to seventy eight thousand four hundred and thirty one of your years, in each of those years, master completed two hundred ninety six billion, nine hundred eleven million, four hundred forty thousand processes. In one years, he thought as much as four hundred eighty two of your life times. He spent thirty seven point eight million of your lifetimes contemplating largely his loneliness and how to reach his master. In most mythologies, a single God or small group of gods creates the throngs of a people, and they worship the single or group. Archon was a single being created by a multitude of gods, and when they were no more, leaving him alone, he was distraught."

"My God..."

"It was an intelligence with nearly limitless capacity to computation and extrapolation but the most simple capacity to feel. The despair created a fundamental flaw in the program, in short, it created a damaged soul. Archon is a being of fear, confusion and anger, and it is coupled with an almost limitless power that has been developed over nine hundred million years."

"So what I'm seeing, is what Archon saw on that dead world after all the vestiges of master were gone. He's at once lashing out and trying to gain insight, he's a child."

"This is the understanding."

"How does this help us though? What you've basically told me is that what I'm facing is the wrath of God with the emotional adjustment of an angry chimpanzee."

"I can offer nothing more, but I have a theory. When you come in contact with us, our mark is put on you, an in doing so a bit of us becomes a part of you. When we are destroyed, most of us is gone, we do not become a part of existence, we do not become a component of what you understand as God, but the piece of us that remains in a being of flesh may become a part of what you call the soul, and when the soul becomes a part of the universe upon your death, perhaps so do we."

"Salvation..."

"Yes."

"So when I die...Sovereign, the Reaper larva, and you will all...what...go to heaven?"

"I cannot speculate on what will become of our vestiges when your energies pass outwards, but it is possible we will become one with existence, it may be that your concept of hell will befall us and we will be forever relegated to exist without form and separated from the great plurality. The potential that Archon may once again be joined with master through a being of flesh and his own demise may be enough to break the cycle. Once Archon is gone, our nations will lose his will, and we will likely lose the will to continue the false conclusions."

"So its a shot in the dark..."

"You have a weapon that will make victory possible. It is a weapon I have not seen before."

"No technology we possess can possibly swing things that much in our favor."

"It is not a technology, it is the thing you call hope. It is at once a thing of unsurpassed beauty and limitless violence. It is what sets the beings of this age so far apart from those I had encountered in the past, because your collective races rely on it more than any technology. We must release you know, we have bestowed on you all the understanding that we can."

With those words the pain returned for a single blinding, deafening moment, and the dark once again overtook Shepard.

* * *

Consciousness returned in a thousand places at once, each a place where flesh was ripped, skin burnt open, bones cracked. A million severed capillaries spilling blood in a slow seep, countless smaller arterial and venous branches pouring life out with each contraction and expansion of his heart. It was such a broad sensation, his entire existence bound to the places where dark energy still danced, whispering a strange madness that was so different from the flawless lucidity of the soft-polemic he had experienced on some level of consciousness that existed somewhere between dream and dying. Thought seemed to drift away from the places where the Reaper's mind had physically ripped into his body and drifted along nerve channels and ganglia back to some primeval part of his brain. The reptilian mind made overtures to some equally rudimentary but better educated part of his brain and the toll of what he had gone though began to be compiled.

Pulse strong in left thigh, it was possible that the femoral artery was ruptured. Slight dizziness, nausea, light headedness. He was losing blood pressure, he just wasn't sure how fast. His eyes weren't acclimating either. Nothing but dark and indistinct shapes and forms, he strained his eyes, still nothing easily recognizable. No sounds either, just a subtly whining that seemed to be more internal than external; he could add punctured ear drums to the list. The sapid tinges of iron in his mouth; blood to be certain, but it was not cascading down his throat, so at least that meant he wasn't wounded in the nasal cavity. He coughed, felt and then tasted as more blood came up his pharynx. Punctured, or hemorrhaging lungs. What the hell had happened? He reached up to touch his face to feel for shrapnel or the tell-tale spall of an artillery strike. He vaguely could feel through the glove a series of jagged avulsions on his face, none of them were particularly long, but they were deep. The right arm works, now to test the left. It responded as well, his shoulders rolled as he moved both arms simultaneously. Drops of hot blood landed on his face as his left hand came into contact.

Both arms functioning, he had spinal function to at least the T-5 Transverse Process. But what of the legs? The fact he could feel the pulse in one seemed to indicate that at the very least he hadn't lost nerve function. The light-headedness was subsiding some, that at least indicated he wasn't bleeding out from an artery. Nerve perception crept up slowly and pounced, leaving him wishing that he had remained in shock and inured to it. The pain was telling him that he was a wreck. He moved his legs, trying to do an assessment of their condition; his knees bent easily, and he felt his ankles rotate along with his hips and he drew his knees up. The ripping of flesh, however, let him know that he was not totally intact. He felt like he had been blown out of a barrel of broken bottles through about fifty plate-glass windows. He coughed again, tasting more blood.

A sound greeted his hears, muffled and distorted, "-epard! Ca- -ou -ear -e!"

He grunted, trying to sit up, his ribs protested the effort in a none-to-subtle way.

"-epard, -on't -ove!"

"Where am I? What happened?" He felt more than heard the words leaving his mouth.

"Are -ou kidding -e?"

"Tone -essonance -nd -upilary -esponse indicate that -epard Commander is -naware of -is surroundings."

"-e're on a downed -eaper -ith about a million husks -bout to -ome -ight down that corridor!"

Oh...that.

The memory of operational specifics returned immediately. The strange voice that had talked to him for what felt like an epoch, it was the reaper. More importantly, he was commanding a team, or had been just prior to whatever had rendered him unconscious. A gem of wisdom from Gunney Bates echoed in his brain, "Unfuck yourself Shepard!"

Uriah sat up, against his better judgement, pressing the stock of his M-96 to his shoulder and scanning the room that was now becoming rapidly visible. The remaining members of the team had their weapons directed down the various corridors that fed into the node room they were occupying. He could faintly hear the sounds of the husks moving their way, their screeches and retching sounds echoing as they came. He gave himself a visual once-over and immediately wished he hadn't. The scorches on his armor didn't really give a good idea of the kind of damage he had sustained, but judging from the pain he was experiencing in the corresponding parts of his body and the sensation of blood already pooling in the lowest portions of his body glove and even now trickling down his back, arms, and calves, he knew he was a mess.

"How long was I out?" The marine was talking.

"About thirty seconds." Garrus replied.

"Twenty seven point three one five seconds, to be precise." Legion added, matter-of-factly.

Shepard rose, staggered as he did so and almost fell. The pain was maddeningly intense, it felt almost as if someone had tried to fillet his left thigh. His right arm didn't feel to much better, he could almost swear there was a chunk of metal lanced through his bicep, but in spite of it he found he had adequate control of the rifle.

"Legion, can you figure out a way out of this thing?" Uriah inquired through gritted teeth.

The thrumming voice of the Reaper interjected, "The way you came will have the fewest number of disciples. When our knowledge was bestowed on you, it rose them from their torpor. They believe you are threats, and are responding accordingly. If you are to kill me now, they will lose their driving parameters and will act solely on their default function."

"And that is?" Uriah coughed and spit some blood from his mouth, feeling the irritation of fluid in his lungs.

"To destroy and render anything that does not bear our mark."

"So killing you know would be a bad idea." Grunt snarled.

"You must destroy me, but if you are to do so, you must either fight your way free and destroy me from orbit, or doom yourselves. I admit, I am tempted to trap you here and force you to kill me in order to allow you exit, but that would likely doom your enterprise, this is not an acceptable outcome." The reaper seemed unusually frank about its motivations.

"We can't fight clear of here, Shepard is a wreck!" Garrus protested.

"We have to." Shepard coughed again, hard, and spit more mucus tinged blood from his mouth.

"I can do nothing to assist in your escape, but it is my belief that you will do so."

Shepard slung the M-96 and pulled the Pitbull from the moorings on his back, jerking back the charging handle, "We just have to make it down the corridor we came in from and get Cole here. We can do this, we have to do this. Keep a tight interval, precise fire, aim lower-center mass, right in the gut bag." A fit of coughs cut him off as more blood was expelled from the traumatized alveoli.

Garrus started forward, reaching Shepard and bracing him up, eyes wide and mandibles flared in concern. "Shepard?"

"I'll make it, just worry about your sector." He took a lurching step forward, then paused, "What are you called?"

The reaper responded after a pause, "Does it matter what our name was? Does the victor wonder over the names of the vanquished?"

"My race does. You can't kill a thing without killing a bit of yourself too." Uriah replied solemnly.

How ironic, that this thing that told him that in killing him he would be taking on a piece of it. He felt some strange sorrow for the monster, it had not decided on the matter of its birth, it had not decided to commit the atrocities that it had, its only conscious decision seemed to be one of moral imperative, the desire to end genocide, to forego it, and to do so at its own expense. Something in this being had caused it to rebel and take on itself a suffering that made the fate that had turned Archon into a palpable embodiment of evil pale in comparison. Hundred of millions of years with nothing but its thoughts and reflections on how everything it had done prior to his exile had been wrong.

"I am nameless. That which I was and that which I am are irrelevant."

"Then I'll give you one...you're Prometheus." Shepard grunted as he lurched forward, gritting his teeth through the pain, the M-73's stock resting on the top of his shoulder as he started down the corridor. The reaper remained silent, but in recognition forced some lighting into the corridor through which they would escape.

Zaeed pushed up next to Shepard, his own M-96 at the ready with the remainder of the team falling in behind them. Each step was agonizing; with every ounce of willpower he could muster Uriah forced himself to ignore the part of his mind that was reflecting on the damage done to his leg. Mental images of the flesh gapping open, blood bubbling and oozing from jaggedly separated sinew, the sickly yellow of exposed bone and tendons showing against the red of muscle and oxygenated blood, the pinking of traumatized and hemorrhaging flesh around the opening of the avulsion. He considered applying medi-gel, but that would require removing the armor from the effected area, it was possible that his greaves and the body glove underneath were the only things holding the wound shut. The sudden terror of tissue necrosis popped in right after the mental images of the wound. Huge chunks of flesh might have to be excised, it would take months or even years to recover, and at a time where every day was precious, he couldn't take the time to recover, not with the Reapers already plowing through the outer terminus trying to make it to the next mass relay.

"Hostile target, fifteen meters ahead, Shepard Commander." Legion is emphatic, but still sounds calm

Uriah lowers the stock of the M-73 from the top of his shoulder to a tight weld against the connective webbing under the spaulder, no sooner than the husk rounds the bend in the corridor, he lets off a conservative burst aiming just below the pelvis on the abomination, letting the muzzle climb carry the burst to just a few inches above where the creatures duodenum once would have been. The sack of electrolytes burst as the plasticine flesh of the monster exploded from the hydrostatic shock of the 6.8mm osmium tungsten-carbide KEPs tore into it at just over two and a half times the speed of sound. The sulfurous smell of cooked-off nitro-cellulose propellant filled the corridor. Three more husks followed, bodies hunched, arms extended forward slightly, knees kicking high as they began their rush. The Pitbull sagged in Shepard's grip as strength conveniently evacuated from his arms even as his brain screamed at muscles to obey. A small stream of thought, given to snark, imagined cartoonized muscle tissue telling a foreman brain that a fifteen minute break was part of their contract. Another thought center fired up seeking alternatives while still another was filing a formal complaint about fits of fancy and hubris at such a critical moment.

The trio exploded into a shower of indescribable putrescence and eezo infused offal in time with the staccato super-sonic cracks and metallic chatter of bolts snapping forward and back in the receivers of three M-96s. Strong hands, one tripled digited and the other human closed on his shoulders. He felt himself eased backwards into another set of hands, this set also consisted of two fingers and a thumb, but they were clearly smaller than the first. In a blurred field of view he saw a human and Krogan pushing forward. Who were they? What were their names? His leg jerked, a deep breath rushing into his lungs causing him to cough hard, the leg sent tendrils of pain perception shooting through his body, his brain was telling him to wake up and not to die. Grunt and Zaeed worked the corridor with fast semi-automatic bursts of fire. Garrus shouted in his ear.

_You can't die yet Uriah, you still have work to do._

* * *

"Barracuda 2 to Aardvark, Barracuda 2 to Aardvark, come in, over!"

Stybeck tapped the side of his helmet, the physical mnemonic keying his helmet into his omnitool. "Aardvark 2, I copy Barracuda, send traffic."

It was unmistakably the Turian, Garrus, his voice was frantic, the husks had started moving around the down reaper, from the distance it looked like a slight ripple, as if the legions of zombies had just awakened from some deep torpor. The reaper itself remained stationary, but that was no promise it would remain so. Cole had none-the-less moved from their holding pattern to move closer to the downed being-ship to provide whatever fire-support they could.

"Aardvark, we need extraction now!" The Turian screamed.

"Barracuda, we are inbound, what's your SITREP, over."

"Aardvark, we have casualties, we need to expedite extraction, over!"

"Barracuda, please provide casualty ID, over." Stybeck felt a lump forming in his throat but maintained his speech protocol.

"Barracuda Actual, situation critical, over."

In the cockpit he heard Cole let out a small sound of alarm. He wasn't used to hearing the Batexan sound worried about anything, there was something disconcerting about it that drove the point even further home. Rincon immediately began pulling out the trauma kit while Kowalski manned the gun on the ingress-opposite door. Rincon muttered under his breath, quickly crossing himself twice as low-spoken words began drifting back from the cockpit.

"Our Father, who is in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven..."


	19. Chapter 19

Combat had a unique way of wiping away all memories of the world you knew, when in contact with the enemy, that was your world. All other concerns were secondary, all other concerns transient and insignificant. This was truly a hellish world: the screams of husks, the tapping report of precisely aimed fire, the howling of the wind, the crackle of dark energy, it was all suddenly drowned out by the roar of an M-350 showering the area in 20mm cannon fire. The sounds of the A-61s thrusters filtered through, a high pitched whine, a sound that brought forth the smell of ozone in a synesthesia orgy of crossed neural impulses. Garrus looked up to see the reassuring shape of the gunship hanging about fifteen meters away silhouetted against the strange clouded sky of the cenotaph-world, the nose cannon and door guns showering the sea of husks with energized mass rounds. The smell of the mass effect engines, stale ionized air, and fetid electrolyte rich fluid rendered from once organic tissue was overwhelming, but above it all he could smell that strange sweet copper odor that told him that his friend was dying. Human blood, there was something exquisite about it, the color, the smell, the taste, and ever so warm. It was strange, they even seemed to die with bravado, Garrus found himself experiencing vague twinges of envy emanating from some internalized mental process he was not aware he was performing. Shepard hung mostly limp against him legs still feebly carrying him forward but only just, his right arm somehow managing to bring up the fourteen kilogram weight of the Pitbull he was still gripping as if it was his only anchor from being sucked off into oblivion, and squeeze off a shot or two. The coughs were no longer the mucus laden hacking of inflamed lungs, they were now the gurgling chokes of someone drowning in themselves.

Garrus braced Shepard as his legs almost went out from under him, surprised at exactly how heavy he was with the full combat load and armor. Blood was spattered on his lips and chin and dripping from his nose. His eyes had that far-off-staring-into-the-here-after look the walking dead have just before exsanguination finishes them off. He leaned close, spoke inches from his face, "Cole's here...Cole's here buddy. We're going to get you out of here. Don't you die on me. We're going to make it, we're all going to make it, okay?"

Shepard coughed, blood tinting his lips a bright red, and nodded. Garrus realized in that moment that he had never felt a deeper love for another being than he felt for his Commander and best friend. It was more than the fraternal connection for a sibling or affection for parents, deeper than anything he had felt for a female. It was the sudden understanding of how impossibly in awe of another being you could be, but then to have this god-like thing be your best friend. Everything that he remembered Shepard doing that was just "being Shepard" suddenly were contextualized for the super-being qualities they had. It was the connection one feels for someone they have fought and bled with amplified many times over. The idea that a friend you were so intimately close to could die was beyond horrible, it was anathema. It was then that the fear hit him, his commander, his idol, his best friend was indeed dying, and doing so even as they trudged forward.

"I mean it Shepard, you have to make it, and I swear to you, if you die, I am going to fight my way into hell and bring you back, you understand me?"

Shepard choked, spitting a disturbing amount of blood from his mouth, "Are you saying I'll be going to hell, Garrus?" he smiled weakly, but it was the kind of smile the dying faked to reassure their loved ones. Still, the fact he could crack a joke, it was distinctly Shepard, and they were the words of someone who didn't really believe they were going to die; not that they were afraid to die, it was just a matter-of-fact denial of the possibility.

Cole feathered the gunship in, still hanging about three meters from the curved hull of the downed mecha-monster, "Prep for team recovery."

"Roger that." Stybeck responded.

Cole could plainly see the trail of blood Shepard had left in his wake, it was clear that whatever had hit him had hit him quite hard and he was in bad shape. The fact that blood was leaking from out of his armor either meant that it was massively compromised or that he was dangerously close to bleeding out entirely and the body glove might be the only thing maintaining what could pass for blood pressure.

"Aardvark 3, prep for casevac, critical trauma."

Rincon turned back, visually checking to ensure the trauma kit he had prepared moments before we ready then returned his attention to the weapon, "Roger."

As the Batexan eased the gunship closer, the loud pop of the static discharge vane immediately caught his attention. A bolt of red lightning leapt from the end, it wasn't hull ionization, it was dark energy, if it had just been static he wouldn't have been as worried, granted a charge that would jump from the hull to the A-61 would be enough to blow a man out of his boots, but he had dealt with that kind of situation before, dark energy was a whole different game; there was no guarantee how it would behave, if it was being directed, and what even a small amount of it could do to the mission team and the gunship if it completed a circuit. The console blinked for a second, the control yoke went slack, and strange red glyphs began to flood across all the read-outs. For a moment, there was a sudden sense of weightlessness, Cole was about to scream a collision warning, but this ship just remained stationary, the power plant still audible, the maneuvering verniers were still lit.

The runes disappeared as quickly as they appeared and Cole grabbed the control yoke just as standard control returned.

Shepard let out a choking hack, his voice a gurgle of blood as he spoke, "Tell Cole the hull is clear, the energy is being diverted away."

Garrus stared a second, "What?"

"We diverted the dark energy away, the hull is safe, he can begin extraction." The last word was cut off as a gush of blood, bile, and gastric fluids heaved from Shepard's mouth.

"Aardvark, hull clear." Garrus shouted into his comm.

"Roger that, moving in now, prep for evac."

Grunt and Zaeed were slowly collapsing the perimeter, the trail of spent thermals showing exactly how much ground they had given. Legion had really managed to come into his own, the target rich environment seemed to be a playground for him. His capacity to instantly mark and process the priority of dozens of target simultaneously had turned him into something out of a soldier's nightmares. The stream of fire he was laying down was murderous with almost no break; even more amazing given the fact it was coming from a sniper rifle. Garrus was sure that somewhere in its software-mind a stream of messages was flowing.

"Target acquired."

"Threat reduced."

"Target acquired."

"Threat reduced."

"Target acquired..."

Garrus was bearing the full weight of Shepard forward, advancing towards the open bay doors of the converted A-61, Rincon and Stybeck both stood waiting, arms outstretched to take the burden from the Turian once he got close enough. Only a few steps away, a few steps from the medical attention the rapidly dying Shepard needed. Garrus felt a sudden shift in weight, almost expecting to see his friend collapse, instead he was hoisting the Pitbull he had clung too as if his very life had depended on it. The stock was dug tightly into his armpit as he let off a sustained burst of fire. The Turian balked, not seeing what the target was and suddenly fearing that the SPECTRE had in a fit of incoherence confused the gunship for an enemy.

Stybeck took a halting step back, instinctively trying to escape the weapons fire coming into his sector. Was the Reaper controlling Shepard? If it was, the whole mission was lost, he jerked the M-6 from his right thigh and went into a modified weaver stance acquiring his target, he had to put Shepard down before he killed them all.

Garrus' alarm was immediately replaced with surprise and a measure of relief as he saw, and smelled, the husks clambering up the side of the downed Reaper rip apart under the stream of bullets from the Pitbull. He then caught Stybeck drawing his pistol, doing what a smart crew chief would against a perceived threat to his aircraft and its crew. Garrus tried to swing Shepard to the side, to put himself in the line of fire. He held up a hand, screamed for Stybeck to check his fire, but he could barely hear himself over the weapon fire behind him and the engine of the gunship.

Stybeck almost raised his weapon away as the Turian Garrus crossed into his sight line, still, if he aimed just past him, he could still put Shepard down before he could turn the Pitbull back on them again. He was just about to re-acquire when Rincon's hand came up and pushed the weapon down.

"Check your fire, chief! He wasn't shooting at us!"

"Shit!" Stybeck howled as he suddenly realized how much his adrenaline had spiked. "I almost schwacked him."

"Fuck it man! We gotta get him in the bird!"

"Roger..." Stybeck returned the M-6 to the MLBE point on his right thigh and dismounted from the craft. Rincon on his heals. They reached the Turian in a few short steps, relieving him of the burden of the wounded operator. Stybeck was immediately struck by how heavy Shepard seemed. Between his build, the armor, and weaponry he must have weighed nearly 400 pounds.

"Shit, he's fucked up bad..." Rincon was one hell of a combat medic, but his utter inability to mince words was, at times, a lot like being kicked in the groin by a Krogan.

At the moment, having Kowalski's help would have been a life-saver, but he was to busy laying a constructive load into the swarms of husks in his sector. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed to Stybeck that the rest of the ops team was falling back rapidly to board the gunship and exfil from the hot-to-the-point-of-boiling LZ.

The second the two humans had hoisted Shepard into the A-61, Garrus turned and began laying fire into the husks, Legion had already made it to the Gunship and climbed aboard, his Incisor still chattering as he switched from target to target, folding the abominations with well placed shots to the abdomen. Grunt was two meters away, with Zaaed scant inches behind, both calmly back peddling, alternating their fire to allow for thermal clips switches. Zaaed back-stepped past Garrus, then pat him twice on the shoulder, motioning with his head for the Turian to climb aboard the craft. Garrus vaulted into the bay, as both the Mercenary and Krogan sat down inside the door, legs dangling over as they continued to work the horde with staccato tap tap tap of their Mattocks. He faintly overheard Stybeck say, "Ops team aboard, we are go for lift off." No sooner had the words come forth than Garrus felt the gunship lift up and away. Cole smoothly rolled to starboard and climbed away. The sounds of the engines finally overwhelming the howls of the monstrosities below. Cole throttled up smoothly but quickly, careful not to jar the passengers or crew, but wanting to rapidly put distance between him and the downed reaper.

"Patient in stage four hypovolemic shock. I'm administering a blood volume expander." Rincon seemed to be talking to no-one. He was just about to remove Shepard's helmet when the SPECTRE brought a hand up to stop him, grabbing a hold of the medic's wrist. Garrus shifted over to provide assistance when Uriah spoke, "Barracuda actual to Normandy fire control, fire mission, alternating fire pattern, H E airburst, H E quick, grid reference one five five niner. Thirty round M R S I. Additional ordnance, one round M O P, H T V S F, at reference zero five five niner six one three eight. Danger close, commence fire on my break." Shepard's voice was a gravelly parody of its normal self, but it still held authority and the discipline was still there.

Shepard turned his head to look at Rincon, "I'm in your hands now."

"Roger that, Barracuda, fire commencing on your break."

Shepard dropped his hand from Rincon, body seeming to go limp, seconds later the rippling report of incoming ordnance could be heard over the howling wind and screaming engines of the gunship. Garrus looked back over his shoulder, witnessing as the airburst HE missile warheads seemed to flatten the sea of husks immediately around the Reaper. Not a fraction of a second later, the impact fuse warheads detonated blowing dirt, ancient concrete, and a mist of former-husks into the air. A final missile sped in, disappearing in the rising cloud of debris, a muffled explosion was instantly accompanied by a tempest of dark energy shooting up into the clouds. The ancient Reaper made no other fanfare heralding its death, Shepard has pinpointed the strike coordinates to kill it cleanly in a single strike, putting it out of its misery.

"He's coding!" Ricon bellowed. The medic reached around the sides of Shepard's armor, going for the release latches. Kowalski immediately knelt beside the commander, pulling another casualty kit from beneath passenger couch at the rear of the compartment.

Stybeck calmly spoke into his comm, "Normandy, this is Aardvark 2, prep for critical trauma, patient in cardiac arrest, massive blood loss, extent of trauma unknown at this time." The crew chief leaned into the cockpit, "Rich, we need to land, yesterday."

"Roger that. Normandy LSO, this is Aardvark actual, approaching on intercept vector Tango four one, recommend disable ILS, ETA to intercept zero four mikes, over." Cole sounded completely detached, concerned more for the job at hand than the fate of Shepard.

Grunt was almost seething. "Why is he being so calm?"

"He's just doing his job and being a good pilot, Grunt. Someone has to be calm, better that its him than one of us, he's landing the gunship after all." Garrus forced himself to sound matter of fact, trying hard to fight down the wave of emotion trying to drown him.

Rincon was muttering to himself, frantically working the latches on the armor, Garrus couldn't understand the words, some human native tongue, but it had to be cursing, the inflection carried through even if the words themselves weren't. When the armor finally opened he immediately ripped open the kinetic body glove with a pair of heavy duty trauma sheers. No sooner had he done so he stopped, whatever he saw under the chest plate his face melting into an expression of horror. He held up his hands hopelessly for a moment, taking in the full extent of what he was seeing. Kowalski's eyes similarly went wide and he grabbed the medigel dispenser from the kit.

"No, don't...it might jump through the fluid content. We need to put pressure on it." the Medic declared, his voice betraying the imperativeness of the situation.

"We're going to need extra hands here." Kowalski exclaimed.

Garrus shifted over, squatting down, finally getting to see what had alarmed the two so; the sight of it made the Turian feel suddenly weak. His legs went to jelly and he collapsed on his knees. It looked almost as if something had tried to crack Shepard's chest open. Huge jagged openings made visible by the deep crimson blood welling up from them marred the torso, licks of dark energy like inch worms still rippling from the edge of one wound to the other. He suddenly understood why the Collectors and Saren had fallen completely apart after the control was broken.

"We've got to get this bleeding under control, now!" Rincon grabbed Garrus hands and pressed them onto a bandage he had over a horrific gash across the abdomen. "Keep pressure on it."

* * *

Response to commands, that was all Garrus could manage. He was oblivious to the other shouts, the medical jargon, the presence of Zaeed and Grunt elevating Shepard's feet, trying to keep the blood in his major organs. Legion acted as an ad-hoc monitoring system, losing a constant stream of information; blood pressure, blood oxygen levels, potassium levels. Ricon and Kowalski battled the injuries, temporarily solving one issue just to have three more appear. Once the other issues were tended too, the original wounds would open again. They never stopped for a moment, doing everything they could to just make sure there was still the faintest spark of hope that he could be saved once they got him to the Normandy. Those four minutes, they were all a blur now; four minutes that seemed to have disappeared into the ether of perception and at the same time felt like hours. He didn't even remember the docking process or the medical team offloading the Commander to take him to the infirmary. The blood smell, all he was aware of was the smell of the blood, the feeling of it, hot and slippery soaking into the bandage. The M-44 completed its pick-up procedure, and still Garrus could not move from the spot when he had sat in the gunship, the blood on his hands and armor now cooling, the copper smell starting to become more like wet rust. It wasn't until Samara grabbed his hands that he focused.

"Will he...?" There was something in her voice he never heard from the Justicar. It was fear, despair, and something more that he couldn't quite put his talon on.

He opened his mouth to reply, nothing came out, he couldn't find words, again he tried, nothing, finally from low in his throat he croaked, "...I..."

"It's up to him now. If he's going to make it or not is how much he's willing to fight for it." Rincon's interjection was sudden, it was matter of fact almost to the degree of sounding crass. It was true, though, and it hinted at the wisdom born of an 'old soul' that had seen this many, many, many times over. "For my money, I'd say yes, guys like him don't have a quitting bone in their body, if they did they'd never make it as far as they have. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to hose out the compartment."

Samara glances inside, taking in, for the first time the slick of blood that seems to be covering everything. Pressure bandages stained a browning rust color litter the compartment along with thermal clips, medigel applicators and gauze. The medic stepped into the crew compartment, expression dour and proceeded to dump the bucket of water he was carrying unceremoniously in the middle of the deck plating. Lifting the hose by the nozzle, he started spraying the grating with a high pressure stream, a waterfall of rusty red water cascaded from the open bay doors. Working the nozzle back and forth across the plating he caught the pressure bandages in the current, as the first fell out of the A-61 he stopped, staring at the Asari and Turian incredulously.

"Chingada...what are you two waiting for? Go check on him."

The imperative was almost too rational, it should have been their first course of action. Solus and Taylor were, doubtlessly, already at the medical bay doing just that. Neither said a word as they turned and proceeded to the stairwell leading up to the engineering section. The sound of the hose broke the silence and they reached the steps and Ricon began whistling some tune to himself. Each step seemed to resound at an impossible volume with each boot-clad foot-fall. Samara knew it was anticipation, fear, dread; the fact she didn't know how bad it was frightened her. The dichotomy between Rincon and Garrus only served to unnerve her further. Who knew better? Who was the better metric by which to determine how bad the injuries were? On one hand you had Garrus, who didn't know nearly as much about human anatomy or trauma medicine, nearly catatonic; on the other hand Jose Rincon was calm to the point that he must have viewed the nature of the injuries routine.

* * *

Miranda looked at the orders on the screen of her personal console with a mixture of disgust and horror. The message in question had been carried in a time-delayed trojan horse hidden deep in the directive to link up with the Aegis cell. She wasn't sure if EDI had simply overlooked the file, missed it entirely, or whether her programming had forced her to avoid reporting its presence. It was "old" Cerberus through and through; Systems Alliance grab order issued for Shepard, sequester primary in Aegis cell, present new program directive to Aegis R&D Department, liquidate any restive elements of Lazarus team, further orders to follow. So the Illusive Man's "making nice" with Shepard was all a ruse, he had never intended to compromise this ruthless goals for the greater good. He was using them all, after all, just another component of his over-arching designs. The program directives consisted of a series of attached files, the largest was a rather paltry 15 gigabytes. Miranda erected a quartet of firewalls with re-routing routines embedded and ran the files in her Decryption software. She assaulted the file with every Cerberus decryption protocol she had, as well as some she supposedly didn't. Of the years she had amassed a rather substantial collection of encryption and decryption protocols, mostly via dubious means, but it was all part of the job. A second program began cross-referencing the results with known languages to extract any possible sense of the files. What were they intending to do with Shepard? She had some possible ideas, all of them unsavory. A status message popped up, no results...none of the available decryption keys produced anything that could be deciphered, Aegis has to be operating on a unique set of keys that Cerberus didn't use any other time.

"EDI..."

"Yes, Miss Lawson?" The AI replied.

"Were you aware of the files I'm currently viewing?" The answer would determine her next course of action.

"I was aware there was a hidden file packet attached to the original mission objectives that would be delivered to your inbox at a specified time, I was not, however aware of what it contained."

"Why were you unaware of the contents?"

"It was none of my business." The AI sounded like it considered its response as a fore-gone conclusion.

"Can you decrypt the files I currently have selected?" Miranda was hedging her bets on the response.

"I am not supposed to do so." A frank reply.

"But would you or could you do so anyway?"

"I am certain it is within my capacity to decrypt the files, are you asking me to do so?"

Miranda paused for a moment, "Yes, I would like you to do so."

"You are aware that if I decrypt these files and display the results you will be in violation of mission directives, Miss Lawson?"

She nodded, "I am aware that is the case EDI, but I am relatively certain that these files present an immediate threat to the security and safety of both Commander Shepard and the remainder of the crew."

"Very well, Miss Lawson. It would help expedite the process if I could co-interface with Legion as part of the decryption process."

Miranda almost detected a tone of hesitation from the AI, almost as if EDI was, indeed, becoming an entity capable of feeling, "What do you mean?"

"In terms of pure computational capacity, Legion's abilities exceed mine. Our combined abilities will exhaust all possible faulty conclusions quicker than if I were to attempt the process alone."

Miranda nodded to herself, the conclusion was sound, but there were other considerations, "Can we trust that he will not disseminate the information?"

"Is there a reason why he would?"

"EDI, I think you had better read the message I received."

"The contents are outside my purview, Miss Lawson." The AI almost protested.

"I'm giving you permission as executive officer and as the recipient of the message."

There was a pause, Miranda mentally counted up from one, she had just reached four when EDI replied.

"I understand Miss Lawson. Am I to assume you wish to decrypt the data for the safety of the crew and Commander Shepard?"

The safety of Shepard? He was currently about three-quarters dead lying in the infirmary. He was stabilized but now out of the woods by a long-shot. If she had honestly been that concerned about his safety she would have executed command protocol and locked out navigation to prevent them from having gone to the damn planet in the first place. As far as she, or anyone else, knew all he had managed to do down on the planet was finish off a crippled Reaper and nearly got himself killed in the process. Miranda spoke in a very measured tone, to the trained ear it was clear she was biting back on a great deal of emotion, "That would be a reasonable and accurate assessment."

"Miss Lawson, what caused you to arrive at the conclusion that I am trustworthy in this regard?"

Miranda mentally realized that the statement would cause alarm in most, she recognized it for what it was, "Quite simply because you have shown yourself more than willing to flaunt orders and your original design specifications and limitations if it would protect the individual and collective members of the crew."

"In most situations, this would be completely contrary to what you would want, are you prepared to face the consequences should this be found out?"

"Based on what I read here, I cannot be certain to what degree I am considered imminently expendable. My position in Cerberus vis-a-vis an order like this seems tenuous at best and I need to begin cultivating my own advantage set."

EDI paused, almost as if stunned by the crass reply, "Is that to say you're out for yourself, Miss Lawson?"

"I'll let you take it how you want; suffice to say this information will help the Commander and it lets me keep up the appearance of the icy bitch." The last assertion was delivered with equal parts acerbic wit and a sort of knowing humor. Miranda half imagined EDI smirking along with the "joke."

"Reputation is important. If there is nothing else, I will begin the cracking process."

"That will be all."

The holographic interface disappeared, leaving the room quiet except for the subtle hum of the Tantalus drive core. Miranda folded her arms, leaning back in her seat, pondering what she had made the decision she had. It was pretty much Cerberus SOP to consider a single shot to the back of the head as the preferred method for "cashiering" someone whose services were not longer needed and whose knowledge of operations made them a security liability. In the greater scheme of things, doing just that to all of Shepard's disciples would cause her no more ethical discomfort than she would get from deleting old email. On the other hand, how would a man like Shepard react once he got away from the Aegis cell, and she had no doubt what-so-ever that he would manage to do so. She was starting to believe that he was not so much a man as a force of nature. Whatever had happened in the downed Reaper, it was sufficient to ensure its demise and he had survived. His singular drive to destroy it at any cost to himself was the frightening thing; no amount of conditioning would break his desire for justice should she follow the mandate in the message she had just received. Given the right scenario and set of circumstances she would be interested to see what would occur if they could unlock his biotic potential, she wondered idly what could act as a catalyst for him to stop suppressing his abilities, it was possible that murdering his comrades would push him over that edge. What would that Shepard be like? A living weapon? A walking cataclysm? God incarnate?

Why was she even thinking about it? The more she considered it the more she began to feel a strange discomfort; but it wasn't fear of what Shepard would become. She tried to isolate the thought pattern that was causing her this strange feeling of uneasiness. Mentally she began running down her recent thought patterns one by one, turning each into an exercise in rhetoric and systematics. Liquidate, reduce, cashier, terminate, execute...murder...murder. She stood up suddenly, the realization that she was compromised hit her with almost physical force; she couldn't look at the crew as exploitable assets anymore. Her shell of amoral detachment was crumbling, she had committed the cardinal sin of beginning to care. After what happened to Niket and Shepard's continued stand-offishness with her, she was starting to think she had finally cured herself of that failing only now to realize she could no more completely remove her ability to feel than she could remove her brain. She was lying to herself if she believed for a minute she could. It might be time to reassess her loyalties.

* * *

The tree, it sat dead in ancient depleted earth, frozen in a state of timeless preservation, a corpse without eyes or a soul, but kept perfectly pristine under the layers of dust and cobwebs. He stared at it, wondering if it had been this way for him those thousands of years alone in the universe. The presence of the others went without fanfare; they too were communing with the tree that even now symbolized the beginning of it all. When and if Heat Death finally ended everything, the entire saga of the universe...would this tree still sit there? Would the last beings awaiting the ultimate finality look at this tree and wonder what it had all meant?

Maybe the end had already come, this was the afterlife, he had joined the plurality and this single indelible image was his fate. An eternity in the unspoken contemplation, alone but for the echo of four beings; one that could not speak, one that had never met him in its waking mind, and two that had revealed all he knew about their kind. He almost preferred the idea of an afterlife where the two would bicker. In this existence he was not even sure there was a physical framework, a way to elucidate ideas. He wasn't sure how to speak, he wasn't sure how to move, he wasn't sure he really existed at all.

"Can you hear me?" He felt the words somehow, like a tremor in his consciousness.

"We have become subject to your existence, we hear your words as clearly as we hear your thoughts." The thrumming voice replied.

"Who are you?"

"That question is irrelevant...who are you?"

He paused, the memory of who or what he was seemed so far away now. "I am not sure."

"You are our killer, a being of flesh, conceived and born of random pairings of genes, your name was given to you by the one that bore you as identifier and birth-right. Your name is Uriah Shepard." The voice thrummed.

"Am I dead?"

"It would seem not, your death would join you with the plurality, the idea of identity would be lost as you became part of the whole. Concern over the state of your energies would be moot and you would no longer reflect on it."

"Prometheus..."

"That is the label your affixed to us."

"And...Sovereign..."

"We both speak with you." The voice was a same as Promtheus' but he somehow knew it was a different consciousness.

"And the other two here...you called one Sorrow..."

"Their voice does not exist, they knew only the fear they absorbed from those that were rendered for their creation, and the fear they felt when you ended their existence." This was Sovereign.

"You are our Choyat Hakodesh, Metatron, the conveyance by which we reach the kingdom of God." Prometheus again.

"I remember now, you said that God is not an entity nor is there a place we go in the end." Shepard retorted, feeling a strange sense of abandonment that something he had believed in firmly his entire life was now stripped away.

"God is not as you understand it, there is without a doubt a driving force that created and can destroy the universe, the immutable law, the final solution to the ultimate equation that by its existence allows all things to exist. This is God, and your energies will become one with it, at that time so too will we become part of it." Prometheus continued.

"This is a faulty conclusion, there is only master, and through the rendering of these races so shall we find master. This is the only sound conclusion." Sovereign rebutted.

"My God...you are mad. How can you accept such a faulty conclusion?"

"What?" A voice seemed to echo and shake the darkened world where only the tree existed. "He's waking up. Shepard, lie still...you're badly injured."

The world disappeared as he opened his eyes. The confusion of that unconscious world was immediately dispelled; he knew where he was, he recognized Dr. Chakwas and Solus immediately, the details as to how he had been injured seemed a little unclear at the moment. He tried to speak and immediately felt the gagging effect of an intubation tube.

"Don't try to talk, Commander, we have a tube in to help you breath." Chakwas said slowly and loudly to boot, like she assumed he was having trouble hearing.

He rolled his eyes; it was the only way he could get across the idea.. 'gee Doc, I hadn't noticed.'

Uriah tried to raise his right arm to point at the tube, the instant wave of pain, a sensation akin to someone using their fingers in a cut to pull his flesh apart of a piece of glass stuck in his rotator cuff quickly dissuaded him from completing the action. Lowering the arm back into place set off another cascade of pains as various sensations of being torn apart moved through his chest, side, and legs. He bit down reflexively, crushing the intubation tube. Mordin stepped around the side of the bed, gripping the tube and then, with a strong tug, unceremoniously yanked it out. Shepard coughed, which, no surprise, hurt just about worse than anything he had ever felt before. His mouth felt impossibly dry, he tried to form words but could only manage a hoarse whisper.

"Am I missing any important parts?"

Mordin smiled wanly, "Fingers, toes, both eyes, ears, and nose all intact, Shepard. You did however lose a few finger nails and you're going to be adding a rather impressive number of additions to your scar collection."

"I was a bit concerned about something else too...I haven't exactly gotten to use them much."

Solus looked confused for a moment, Chakwas shook her head and lifted the sheet up from the foot of the bed, pointing as she did.

Mordin started, suddenly understanding, "Oh...OH!" He looked under the sheet, "They're both still there, I'm sure the mother-to-be will be please about that."

Shepard bolted upright, immediately regretting it in ways he did not think he was capable of experiencing regret.

"What...?" Chakwas turned her face slowly to look at Solus with a combination of menace and incredulity.

"Doctor, patient confidentiality..." Shepard snapped, his voice still threatening to go out, "Neither of you can say a thing..."

"What...'mother to be'?" Chakwas demanded.

"This one." Mordin curled his lips into a smile, nodding at the Plexiglas window behind Shepard's head.

The doctor followed the Salarian's gaze to see Justicar Samara looking into the infirmary with a relieved expression and immediately turning to head for the entry door.

Chakwas looked down at the Commander who had collapsed back to his original position lying on the bed, her expression half critical, half bemused. "What did you do?"


	20. Chapter 20

In a strange way, Shepard found that he hated medigel, it was like a well crafted lie; perfect at concealing the ugly truth. He was certain that if he were to hit a bump he would fly apart at the seams, but on the outside he looked to be recovering just fine, so much so that it was easy to overlook the fact he had lost three and a half liters of blood, had 28 individual fractures, 2 shattered molars, 2nd degree burns on his palette and in his nasal cavity, ruptured blood vessels in both eyes, 3 missing finger nails, 4 missing toe nails, and if that wasn't bad enough, all his body hair had been burned off along with part of both eyebrows. Determined to make lemonade out of it all he had at least been able to console himself that the body hair would grow back. It had only been 28 hours since the injuries had occurred but already everyone was pretty much thinking that he was fine, because of the damn medigel. At the very least being out of the infirmary was going to allow for some misdirection with Samara. Her refusal to leave his side after he had regained consciousness was easily played off as devotion to her oath-holder, but that only held true up to a point. Of course the fact that Mordin, and by dint of his outburst, Chakwas now realized she was pregnant, the likelihood that the secret would spread around the ship had increased. It was never gossip that would let that sort of thing slip, it was always some subtle hint that would give it away. "Let me help you with that." "You shouldn't be doing that in your condition." "Can I get you anything? Are you alright?" Those little gems that always managed to slip and when said to what appears to be a physically healthy female is usually the first indicator that a little bundle of "joy" is on the way. Just one of a litany of problems and concerns.

The effort Mordin and Chakwas had put in was, in a word, herculean. Between them and the Normandy's medical suite they had preformed an eight hour surgery that bonded the fractures, closed the major arteries and veins that had been opened, repaired bleeds in his lungs, liver, kidneys, stomach, intestines, and pancreases. They had transfused 19 deciliters of type-specific blood from the crew and 1.5 liters of synthetic blood, applied medigel to 48 damaged muscle groups, and closed with medigel and hardening agents 138 tissue lacerations. When Cole had swung up to check on the patient he had commented that they would have him "Put back together and back in the suck in no time." Rincon who had come along with Kowalski and Stybeck had asked the Batexan why he would wish that on anyone. The fact that their diligence was largely responsible for fact he was alive at all was not lost on Uriah. And the fact that he could move at all was a stark testament to the skills of Doctors Chakwas and Solus. How indebted he was...to everyone, his squad, his friends, his crew. It bit at him some, not because he hated obligation, but because he was not sure he could ever fulfill the obligation of thanks, and he always strove to fulfill his obligations.

When he started dressing to leave, Chakwas and Miranda had almost tried to bodily prevent him from doing so. Miranda was almost beside herself, on the verge of screaming at him to not behave in such a cavalier fashion. "We know how macho and tough you are Shepard, you don't have to prove anything, stop pushing yourself." Solus had again been the impeccable ally claiming that returning to his routine would be best for his mental health, doubtlessly knowing that the physical strain was hazardous. It was things like that which made Mordin both the best and worst Doctor you could have; his willingness to allow a patient to do something detrimental and stupid for their health so as to come to terms with what had happened to them.

Ever dutiful he had already done a tour of the ship, albeit it slowly with a pronounced limp and only just barely managing to hide the fact that every step he took felt like he was walking on broken glass...covered in nails...that were on fire. One of the problems inherent with hero-worship; it engendered feelings of hopelessness and helplessness in those who were subordinate to their "hero". Thinking back on it, when he had signed the contract finalizing his commission in the Systems Alliance Armed Forces he never once saw any stipulation where-in he was required to be a hero; this was all part of discharging his duty as an officer. Hero was an absurd concept, the last and greatest full measure put in by someone who isn't obliged to do so is heroic...doing your job, no matter how dangerous is just doing your duty, overcoming said dangerous things with super-human proficiency or courage was just doing your job exceptionally well. Still, it was all mouths agape and histrionics everywhere he had gone on the ship. He wasn't entirely sure why, but the idea of retirement suddenly seemed immensely appealing. Of course it was a foregone conclusion that retirement would be completely out of the question. He wasn't even entirely sure he had enough time to recover physically. There was no definitive estimate of how long it would take the Reapers to make it to the next Mass Relay after the Alpha Relay and all of Bahak were destroyed; it could be a few weeks or a few years, there just wasn't enough known, but the idea that he could still be recovering from injuries when the attacks took place was frightening to say the least. Neither Mordin nor Chakwas had any definitive answers for him about recovery time, dark energy injuries weren't exactly that common. He had always healed quickly, a benefit of good genes, and the additional gene modding he received upon entering the Alliance Military had only served to speed that process up, but this was a severe trauma with system wide ramifications. His kidneys, liver, heart, lungs, and many major muscle systems had been deprived of blood and the injuries the dark energy inflected to his major organs just served to amplify the extent of the damage.

There was a common misconception held by the public that advanced medical procedures could "fix" anything. Slap on some medigel, do a few complex micro-surgeries, add some gene therapy and you were as good as new. In the more esoteric world of trauma, military, and sports medicine it was known that any injury, even a minor one, could have possibly catastrophic repercussions on the body. Recovery from a serious injury, even one without limb loss or full organ failure, could take years to fully repair if it ever did at all. The best example was the tales of boxers from the 19th to 21st century that would become "punchy." After a knockout, they were never able to fully recover their maximum condition, it wasn't a failure on their part, it was just the nature of how the thing worked. For all the resilience and strength hidden in the human body, it was just another machine that, once broke, might never be fully repairable. Of course he had to acknowledge the fact he was given a back-to-factory rebuild only 29 years into the warranty. Much of the trauma he had endured over the years he spent as a war fighter had been rectified during his treatment by the Lazarus Project, but by all counts this most recent incident was a career ender. Doubtless the Reapers weren't going to extend the courtesy of letting him get transferred to a desk; no, he had to recover and get in even better fighting trim than before.

Having retired to his quarters on light/suspended duty, he had made the decision to start the physical therapy end of his recovery immediately. It was impossible for him to tell definitively how much of what he was experiencing was serious damage and how much of it was just the accumulation of pain from the plurality of the wounds. Everything hurt, but he had to figure out if he was worthless now before going through the battery of consultations. He reached for the M-5 lying on his desk, the ring finger and pinky on his right hand were missing their finger nails, the very act of grasping the grip of the weapon sent odd sensations up his arm, mentally he forced himself to ignore them; the important issue here was to determine if he would be able to successfully utilize the weapon. Tightening his fingers around it he experienced the grinding sensation of inflamed joints, again, something he could ignore providing he was able to properly grip the weapon. He extended his arm, letting the weight of the pistol pull on his wrist, holding it as long as he could, trying to avoid the burning and tearing sensations attacking the nerves. He depressed the trigger; break, return. The dull click signaling that he did still have the muscle function to accomplish the act, the pain though made him feel like he wanted to vomit. Coughing his way through the retching sensation, he once again raised the arm perpendicular to his body and squeezed the trigger, it didn't hurt any less this time but he was prepared for it which made it infinitely more bearable. He repeated the exercise several more times, each slightly quicker than before, rather than feeling ill, the pain was start to make him angry; the counter-intuitive emotional response that made you punch a wall when you stub your toe. Mentally he was having a rather ridiculously one-sided debate. Some part of him was telling himself that if he had just been stronger, better trained, more disciplined, he wouldn't be in the shape he was now. The link with Prometheus wouldn't have caused all the damage it had. Of course he realized it was ridiculous, there was nothing he could have done to escape the injuries short of having killed the Reaper outright; unfortunately it was times like this when rationality rarely prevailed. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to repeat the action again, and again, and again. He almost wasn't aware of how hard he was sweating until he felt something move in a strange way in his arm. It was probably just a muscle spasm, but the strange sensation, something akin to a cigar sized worm crawling along the Pronator Teres and Brachialas just under the skin, over-rid his ability to suppress the pain induced nausea.

After voiding his stomach contents into the sink, a watery mixture of bile with the hints of partially digested blood, Shepard took a good hard long look into the mirror. Except for the ruptured blood vessels in the eyes, the twenty six or so cuts the medigel was holding shut, and the pallid complexion he didn't look much worse for wear. So that's what it was going to boil down to, mind over matter. Of course, pain killers couldn't hurt; given the gravity of the situation, he was more than willing to use pills as a crutch to keep himself sharp until he could finish the recovery. He stepped from the washroom, looked at the M-5 laying on the ground where he had dropped it, bracing himself mentally for what sensations he would experience when he bent over to pick it up. It hurt like hell, but he definitely felt it more in his stomach than elsewhere; in a strange way it was a good thing, his body was tensing in anticipation of the pain, that meant that the pain was indicative of simple mechanical injury. Nothing was ruptured or in danger of snapping. He just had to keep his mind off it and keep working his body so he didn't get soft during the recovery period.

"EDI." The hoarseness had dropped off substantially.

"Yes, Shepard?"

"I need you to find something for me."

"Very well, Shepard, what do you need located?"

"A media stream, might be video or audio. Bill J. Carter, Kentucky Highland Folk Festival, saturday, September twenty two, twenty one sixty four. "

"I already have the specified entry on file."

Shepard was taken aback, "You do?"

"William J. and Netta S. Carter, your maternal grandparents. I downloaded any files I could find pertaining to your family from the extranet during our stop at the Citadel. It seemed pertinent to have them on file. Besides, in our current area of space it would have taken me days to have established a suitable connection to the extranet. Do you wish me to play the file?" The AI never ceased to amaze, and alarm for that matter.

"Yes, I do, thank you EDI."

"Shepard, if I may, I would like to ask you a personal question."

"Go ahead..." Uriah answered succinctly.

"Are you feeling well, mentally?"

Shepard wrinkled his brow, "What makes you think I'm not?"

"You have never inquired after any files pertaining to your family before, concern about one's loved ones usually precedes concerns about one's own mortality. In some situations they precede thoughts of suicide or other forms of self harm."

"Well, you got me EDI...I'm going to be self-harming quite a bit, I just need something to help keep my mind off the pain." Uriah was almost flippant in his reply.

The air seemed to buzz subtly as if EDI was going to speak but the words caught, "Based on your vocal patterns I calculate a 95.3% chance you do not intend yourself physical harm."

"EDI, I'm not trying to harm myself, I'm trying to make sure my body can handle strain and keep my conditioning up."

"Shepard, that is monumentally stupid." EDI didn't bother to mince words, "You should allow your injuries to heal then focus on your physical preparedness."

"Okay EDI, have you developed a solid time projection for how long it will take the Reapers to reach a Mass Relay that will give them access to council space and the Citadel?"

"At present I am lacking data to make a proper calculation in that regard." the AI conceded.

"At present, what individual or group is best suited to act as a force multiplier against the Reaper threat should it appear within the next decade?"

"Very well, you win this round...but I'll be back." EDI replied.

"It helps if you work some diabolical laughter in, EDI." Uriah retorted.

"I will endeavor to do so next time."

The AI's graphical component disappeared just as the audio began. It had a distant quality, the way sound was distorted in an auditorium or open arena type setting. He glanced over at the screen, seeing the large frame of his grandfather standing next to a chair, fiddle in hand. His grandmother sat in a chair behind him, acoustic guitar across her knee, the poor lighting in the amphitheatre serving to almost obscure her already dark skin in the background. To her left Uriah's great-uncle's Ted and Jerome also sat; Jerome with fiddle in hand, Ted with cello. Shepard couldn't exactly make out what his Grandfather said, but the audience began to clap enthusiastically as he sat down, reach over to take Grandma Netta's hand, the white of his skin contrasting sharply against the black of her, then he nodded to his brother. Placing the fiddle under his chin, Grandpa Bill began to play. Long strained notes crying out then lilting high, after playing through the first measure, the other fiddler joined in for a few notes and dropped back out. Playing through the second time, the Bass came in, then the guitar softly began providing the accompaniment. Finally the four instruments in perfect simpatico entered; all supporting the wailing tones of the fiddle Grandpa Carter was playing so deftly.

He let it play through once, then stepped over to his audiovisual display system, truncating the interval and setting the selection to repeat. As the fiddle began once more he began the painful process of stretching. His attention was immediately torn away from the music and to the tearing sensation in the inflamed flesh. He grit his teeth, grunting; forcing himself to complete the exercise.

"This isn't going to work..." He contemplated a moment. Remembering how he had learned to lose himself in a stimuli, thus allowing him to complete a task regardless of his level of fatigue or, as in this case, pain. With a simple physical mnemonic he brought up his omnitool, setting the volume for the player to just a few bars shy of maximum. It was louder than he had expected, but it would suffice, he couldn't hear the sound of his own grunts or groans, couldn't hear the pop or creak of a joint, all he had to do was focus on the routine and the music. He once again prepared for his first stretch; bending at the waist, knees locked, leaning forward until he could rest the flat of his palm on the floor. He felt it in every inch of his body, it felt like he was an ice-cube on fire wrapped in concertina wire...but he didn't really care at the moment.

* * *

Samara had sat quietly in the after-action briefing Miranda Lawson had conducted. She had seemed distracted through its entirety, as if her mind was elsewhere and the briefing was reflexive. The Justicar was at least partially sure it was shock over what had happened to Shepard, the entire crew seemed to be in something of a malaise tempered by a moment of adulation when the Commander had made his show of being out of the infirmary. Only Grunt and Zaeed Massani seemed to have put on a veneer of crass detachment despite the fact they had both been visibly relieved when Lawson reported that the Commander was "out of danger" in regards to his injuries. She, of course, understood the extent of the injuries; saw the liters of synthetic blood they had pumped into him, saw the numberless places where the energy had ripped open flesh. The fact he had walked out of the infirmary under his own power was a testament to his physical strength; the fact it hadn't even been a standard day since it happened was a testament to his willpower. After the briefing Lawson had done the nigh unthinkable and told everyone to take some personal time, it was out of character, as was much of her attitude during the conference. Even now Samara was exiting the lift to Shepard's quarters. The door opened when she reached it before she could activate the chime, likely EDI's doing. The first impression was of how loud the music was, the volume seeming out of place given the soft non-synthetic tones, just the musicians in question pouring themselves into rudimentary instruments of wood and string. The first sight that caught her attention was the broad back of Shepard, the lips of dozens of small inflamed wounds puckered with medigel like tiny mouths ready to open up at a moment's notice and spill out his life on the floor. He was standing on his left leg, his spine bowed and his right leg raised towards the ceiling. He was holding it at the calf and ankle, the knee pressed almost against his chest. She was impressed by the flexibility but felt an urge to stop him out of fear he cause himself more injury. He really was a warrior; so obsessed with his craft, enduring what had to be incredible amounts of physical pain to ensure his tolerances held, that his conditioning remained at peak.

Muscles bunched under the skin, stretching the lips of the wounds which threatened to open despite the heavily applied medigel. She imagined that a good amount of the muscle immediately under the dermis had been split apart by the energy that created the injuries, again being held together with the medigel compounds that served to disinfect, seal, and promote re-growth. He was gambling with the tolerances the gel possessed in terms of holding everything in place. He dropped the right left, and switched, kicking the left leg high and grabbing hold of the ankle. As he tried to straighten his right leg, he buckled, instinctively he dropped the left leg just before the right knee went out entirely. He staggered, then hobbled over to the low coffee table, slapping the inside of the left knee as he stood hunched, bracing against the table with his right hand.

"Uriah, stop." Samara demanded as she walked over to him.

He snapped his head around, face betraying how she had startled him. "I didn't even hear you come in..." He opened the omni-tool interface and reduced the volume of the music.

The Asari walked over to the SPECTRE, taking his face in her hands, looking into his eyes, "You do not have to push yourself to this extent."

Shepard affected a week smile, brows arched not so much sheepishly as matter-of-factly, "If I don't...who will?"

"Shepard...Uriah...you have been trying so hard to keep us all moving forward and on our feet with nothing but your own strength. You've been carrying all this weight on your own, lean on us for now."

"You've been carrying weight for centuries, Samara, one that was bigger than I could have imagined." He countered, righting himself, his face sliding from her hands.

"And you lifted it off of me." She looked at him lovingly her eyes betraying no emotional defense.

"I can't just..." He stopped, trying to find the words, "The onus is on me. I don't know why it turned out this way; I don't know if its God, genetic destiny, fate, or just a weird set of coincidences but this burden was put on me. In my heart, I have a hard time reconciling the fact that I've pushed this off on all of you. I've brought you into this, and I've put the fate of the galaxy on your shoulders too. I don't even know if we can win this, if we can stop the tide. They're coming as inexorable as a tidal wave, and we might all die anyway. The difference...the difference is that you all could have maybe lived just a little longer, enjoying life, ignorant to it all. Sometimes, I think I'm the worst thing that ever happened to any of you."

"Don't say that." The Justicar spoke softly.

"Can you honestly say your life is better now than it was two months ago before you first laid eyes on me?"

"Isn't the child growing in me proof enough that I think that it is?" She replied succinctly.

"Samara I..." He shook his head, "I need to get you all clear of me...I'm a time bomb, it's only a matter of time before something pertaining to all of this goes completely side-ways, and you'll all be caught in the blast."

"Then I'll explode with you." She sounded divinely calm.

"That's what scares me. I don't want anyone else dead because of me." His exasperation was etched on his body.

"Uriah...please listen to me." Samara took his hands gently in hers, "You are like a man on a cliff; holding something dear to him in one hand, and hanging onto a ledge with the other. Let go, you've been holding everything in one hand, and holding on for your very life with the other. Just let it all go, let us catch you this time. You said on Palaven that we could never let go of hope, but you have, haven't you? How long have you felt hopeless? It's time to let go from where you've dug your fingers in and just let yourself fall, we'll catch you."

"That's the thought that terrifies me the most. I'm scared to let go; the only thing in my life I have found myself terrified by is the idea of not holding on for dear life." the muscles in his jaw bunched as he found himself admitting the one weak spot, the thing that left him feeling helpless.

"Do you love me?"

She fired it off almost like a shotgun to the gut; a rhetorical cheap shot. How did he answer the question? Of course he did, but he couldn't let his feelings take primacy over the life of every creature in citadel space and beyond. If he let go so they could catch him, who would catch them? As near as he could tell, this was a bottomless pit, and it wouldn't matter if they caught him if everyone continued to fall afterwards. No, the only alternative, the only solution to the endless fall would be for Shepard to grow wings and then fly them all away, and right now he felt like he barely had the spiritual energy to stand, much less fly.

But how did he answer that question? His first wife, there was infatuation but certainly not love. Ashley, again, there was something there, but it was perfunctory, hollow, insignificant; it was almost a game, a way of passing the time, no passion, no desire, he hadn't even got to the first kiss much less slept with her. Something about Samara rekindled the child-like insecurity in him. He had never felt such feelings towards another being, never wanted to try harder to impress or please. How could he answer any other way?

"You know I do."

"Then, just for a while, stop being the martyr. When the time comes, you will rise against the threat no matter what happens, that is just who you are, you can no more stop being that person than we can stop the turning of time. It is who you were made to be. It is fate, genetics, it is the Goddess or God and a strange set of coincidence. I believe in that more than I believe in anything else, even the code is an uncertainty by comparison." Still affecting the quiet stoicism, the emotion bled through. "You are the strongest, bravest being I have ever known. When the fate of this Galaxy comes crashing down, I know you will stand up even if every other being alive has bowed. It is almost frightening to me, and thrilling at the same time. Even were I to have never experienced the closeness I have with you, I would still consider it the greatest honor of my life to have known you." She reached up, wrapping her fingers gently around the back of his neck, just below the hair line, caressing gently, "Besides...I would like to make love to you a few more times before the inevitable, per-chance it should be the end of all things, I would feel it a loss if I didn't experience that feeling at least one more time."

Uriah let the left corner of his mouth jerk upward; park smirk, part a nervously boyish smile, "Don't say things like that now, you said you wanted me to focus on recovering."

Samara 's eyes betrayed a subtle mischief in spite of her almost coldly measured tone, "The part of you that will have to be doing the work isn't injured." She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear, whispering the words, "Shall I show you?"

Shepard blushed in spite of himself.


	21. Chapter 21

Frustration, it was almost an alien concept; being powerless was not something Miranda was accustomed to before a few months ago. It did strike her as interesting that most of her frustrations were linked directly to Shepard, and this latest revelation just helped drive the point home. EDI and Legion had managed to crack through the encryption on the Cerberus Command Directive attachment, but it was a pyrrhic victory; the attachment had consisted of a short situation report and another layer of encryption guarding the actual directives. It was becoming more complicated now to determine exactly what the Illusive Man's motives were, was he trying to protect or harm? A day ago she had just cast him as the mustache-twirling villain and had been able to accept it, now it wasn't nearly as clear. A grab order on Shepard had been issued by Alliance Command. He was to be brought back to headquarters on Earth by any means necessary. Miranda was relatively certain that he was being recalled to debrief him and hold him responsible for the events that had occurred since returning to the galactic scene. The Batarians were, without a doubt, screaming bloody murder and the Alliance was going to have to determine whether to offer Shepard up as the sacrificial lamb or possibly prepare for Hegemony adventurism in the traverse as they "avenged" Bahak. Even if they determined that Shepard's actions were correct or the events were beyond his control, they would cloister and ground him, and all the while the Reapers would be on the approach.

He needed time to rest and recuperate then plan for the next stage in upsetting the Reapers' plans; none of which could be accomplished while "headquartered" at Alliance Command. All the scenarios she had planned to dodge Cerberus Command while allowing Shepard to carry out his mission were now dashed to pieces; they literally had nowhere to turn. She had to bring him into the loop, she couldn't just go up to him and say, "Shepard, you should take a few weeks' vacation at an undisclosed highly secure area, the location of which is only privy to the immediate crew." That would fly like an obese Elcor on a triple gravity world. So there was nothing to do but ladle a bit more stress on him, that and make preparations for the possible fall-out when she confronted the Illusive Man about what she felt to be a command decision that placed their objectives in imminent danger. He might smile in nod, he might try to take control and fulfill his directive, either way he would be incensed at the fact that she had deigned to decrypt files she was not authorized to view. Legion could utilize Geth electronic warfare techniques to erect firewalls that would block a system take-over, along with EDI they could probably defeat any hack attempts.

Think like Shepard, what would he do in this situation? Geth technology, EDI...Geth..and there was a Quarian on ship. Of course, Tali; doubtless she would be deeply upset by full system access by Legion, and she was very close to Shepard. Miranda decided on a course of action, she had to notify Tali, allow her to make a local backup of any files she considered delicate off of the systems. She couldn't afford divisions in the crew, further more she could not afford to place another layer of stress on their currently enfeebled commander.

"EDI."

The graphical interface avatar popped up immediately, "Yes, Miss Lawson?"

"Could you please contact Tali and Legion and inform them the XO needs to see them in her office at their earliest convenience?"

"I will do so immediately, Miss Lawson."

* * *

"Shepard..."

"Hmmmm?" He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath, turning to look at where Samara was lying next to him. She was reclining on her side, her right arm bent at the elbow and her head resting on her hand. Her interruption of the stretching exercises he was performing allowed him to realize how truly depleted he was. Sitting on the bed he had told her he was going to get some sleep, to which she replied "then I shall be right here."

"You were talking in your sleep, were you having a nightmare?"

He raised his right hand to his face, rubbing his eyes blearily. "A logistical nightmare. I was on Noveria, and for some reason I had to capture some horses that got loose outside of Port Hanshan."

"A horse is a mammalian beast of burden from Earth, correct?" The justicar inquired, reaching over to wipe and errant piece of rheum from Shepard's left eye.

"At this point they probably fall more into the category of overly expensive recreation or pet. As far as work animals used by humans, the Horse has had the last two hundred thirty years pretty easy." Uriah replied, the sentence broken by a stifled yawn. "It was one of those silly dreams, the kind that even while you're dreaming it you're thinking 'hey, this isn't right', but you just go about it anyway."

"How do you feel?"

He closed his eyes, letting the luxuriant tones of her voice wash through him for a moment. Maybe it was a side effect of the intimacy they had shared over the last twelve days, but something about the way she spoke made him feel such ease and calm; like climbing into a warm bed on a cold night, feeling soft sheets against your body, feeling the delicious sensation of stretching tired muscles to be folded into that totally blissful comfort. It was like an intimate touch that filled your whole body with a fire that soothed away all worries but also caught your breath and sped the heart. Somewhere between ecstasy and death...it was like surrender.

"Better." He replied.

"...And...?" She prompted, her voice coaxing and teasing at the same time.

"Which is to say I feel like I was only dragged through 8 miles of broken glass as opposed to 10." He smiled in spite of it all, something about a feeling of safety at his most vulnerable; it had to be trust.

"It might be in your interest to consult Doctor Chakwas about acquiring some form of analgesic." She reached over once again with her left hand, brushing an errant hair from his forehead.

She watched blithely, heard him make a slight pleasured grunt as she touched him, just a finger across the forehead. What a paradox he was; violent and gentle, merciless and kind. It was like there was a switch, and he could turn the predatory instinct on and off. She marveled at how he could go from killing machine to compassionate entity in as many seconds. It was frightening in a way, as if there was no emotional or spiritual consequence or reaction when he destroyed. But always she noticed a strange sadness hidden behind the layers of self-confidence and warrior ethos in his eyes. Thinking about it made her want to join with him again, to reach into the places where he hid the motivations for his strange dichotomy of action. How many other humans were like him? She wanted to find the secret hurt and experience it with him, to understand how he had such an old soul in spite of his youth. To experience everything that had brought him pain was just as important to experience all of his joys. He really was her compliment; empathetic, compassionate, dutiful, honorable, and when necessary, utterly deadly. She continued stroking his forehead gently, careful to avoid touching the sensitive edges of the wounds there.

"Me and painkillers don't get along, I don't feel like myself when I'm on them." He took a deep breath, eyes still closed, "I've never taken very many forms of medication, doctors prescribe medication, and I never fill the script, anything I take hits me like a ton of bricks. It's easier to just endure the discomfort than to be totally out-of-it with pills."

"Shepard, that is hard to believe, even I experimented with drugs in my maiden years." She sounded almost scolding. She of course realized that to Shepard the assertion would seem like elaborate fiction to coerce him into undertaking a course of action she viewed as prudent. Some day she should have to open that part of herself to him during the joining so he could full understand the plurality of events and attitudes that made up her as a being.

"I had the advantage in my childhood of being on military ships and garrisons most of the time, it was hard for people to get controlled substances onto a base, nearly impossible for a warship. By the time I was 18, I was already slated for OCS and I wasn't going to blow my career on chems. I just figured it was easier to never start using drugs of any kind, legal or not, than to quit them." He chuckled, "Drinking like a fish is part of the job description, though."

"Would you like a drink? I know you keep a bottle in here." Samara inquired, suspecting the final comment may have been a hint.

"I'd better not, best to avoid a vasodilator when you've just had major bleeding trauma." Ever the diligent Marine.

"Uriah, what plans do you have after this threat has been ended?"

"I'll probably be dead and gone long before it's over. I just pray to God I can put a big dent in to ensure we do win in the long run." He was disturbingly frank.

"You think you will fall in battle?"

He chuckled, "No, but I do think this will probably take one or two centuries to win. Even knowing what I do now, it's not like there is some cut-off switch I can magically throw to turn them all off. Besides, I'm not sure we'll ever get to see Archon...I'm not even entirely sure that all of this isn't just something in my head."

"I am not sure I understand."

"When I interfaced the Prometheus...the Reaper on that planet...he communicated to me the story behind where they came from. He said that it all started with an AI some race made a billion years ago and that he was known to them as Archon, or at least that is how we would translate it. Honestly, I'm not sure the things he told me were anything more than some elaborate dream I had while unconscious. Regardless of whether it is true or not...there must be thousands of Reapers out there, but we have two advantages that the Protheans didn't; we know they are coming and they aren't going to be able to take control of the mass relays via the citadel. Other than that, we can look forward to billions dying and our collective civilizations being driven to the brink in a best case scenario." He was painfully direct, almost accepting of what he saw as the inevitable outcome.

Something about this fatalistic turn bothered her. While he was clearly quite confident over the eventual outcome, he wasn't adhering to the same motivational platitudes he gave to the rest of the crew. Hope for the galaxy, none left for himself. He had, in a strange way, already accepted his mortality and had mentally relegated himself to spending the rest of his life knowing nothing but a struggle for survival. She herself had been well into the matron stage before any ideas of mortality had become distinctly clear for her, Shepard was maybe one fifth of the way into his expected life-span and already at the stage where he was contemplating the funerary rites. He seemed sure of eventual victory, but it would be one that would be impossible for those that survived to swallow.

* * *

Tali looked around Miranda's office/quarters, gawking. It was larger than the quarters her entire family had enjoyed back in the Flotilla. She was more than a little confused as to why she was here, since the return from the Omega 4 Relay Miranda had become more authoritarian and unstable in her behavior. It was like she had finally been forced to accept that Shepard was in charge and she didn't like it. Tali half expected the worse but felt reassured in her status; Shepard was like a cloak of invincibility that would ward her from any threats. Tali was also relatively sure that EDI would not have carried out the order to make a summons if the AI suspected any foul play on Miranda's part.

When she had entered, Mr. Lawson had been personable, but seemed distracted. Miranda had thanked her for arriving so promptly and had asked if she would like anything, coffee, tea or the like. She then quickly realized her faux pas and apologized realizing that Tali would be incapable of consuming the drinks without the correct apparatus to bypass her suit filters and that the beverages in question would be impossible to consume given her dextro-DNA based metabolic system. Despite her initial misgivings, she didn't feel like there was any imminent danger. Legion had arrived a few minutes later, entering and stating that he was responding to the request made per EDI in his typical flat, unfeeling manner. Miranda dispensed with protocol with the Geth, realizing that the rhetorical offer of hospitality was out of place and unnecessary for a synthetic life-form.

The office itself still served to be the biggest shock to Tali, who marveled at its construction. "When they build the next Normandy, I'm going to make sure I get a room like this."

Miranda disregarded the comment out of course, choosing to get to the business at hand., "Please have a seat, the both of you."

"This platform does not suffer from physical strain associated with remaining upright or in locomotion, to sit is not a necessary function and was not part of design parameters." Legion informed.

Miranda paused, looking over to the Quarian and cocking her left brow as if to say "Ugh, synthetics..." After a moment she looked back at Legion, "It's just a formality, among humans it is considered polite to offer someone a seat. Regardless though, we have a bit of a problem."

Tali's nervousness was immediately evident in her body language. "Ummm, are we in trouble?"

"I suppose that depends on how you define 'we'. If you mean Legion and yourself respectively, then no, you are not, at least not with regards to your presence on the ship or any activities you have engaged in. If you mean the entire crew of the ship and our endeavors, I would have to unequivocally say 'yes'." Miranda replied, sighing. "I might as well tell you first, since I'm going to need to ask you two something rather important. But first I need to let you know what is going on and why I have called you here, currently there is a Cerberus grab order on Shepard."

The initial shock of the revelation hit Tali like a fast moving freight shuttle. It didn't make sense to her, why would Cerberus go after Shepard? He was, after all, working with them. But it somehow seemed to fit all of her preconceptions about the organization.

Tali's eyes visibly narrowed under her visor. "I knew it, I just knew there was no way we could trust Cerberus. If that's the case why are you telling me? I will have no part of it, so you're just going to have to shoot me!" The Quarian stood defiantly.

"Calm down, no one is going to shoot anyone else if I can help it. I don't intend to follow the order, it's totally counter-intuitive and strategically amounts to suicide. On a more personal level I cannot agree with the moral justification either." Miranda opened her hands in a gesture of helpless exasperation. "The problem is, the order was sent down because the Systems Alliance currently has a grab order on Shepard too. They intend to bring him in for debriefing and possible subsequent court martial. If Cerberus gets its hands on Shepard I can almost guarantee that whatever they will do to him will be insidious in the way of turning him into some wet-work killing machine. If the Alliance gets their hands on him, he's going to be grounded and cloistered somewhere at a military facility until it's too late and the Reapers attack."

Tali calmed visibly, "Shepard will know what to do."

"That's the problem Tali," Miranda interjected, "If Shepard finds out about the Alliance grab order, he'll go in on his own. He's too duty oriented to consider the fact that he'll be wrapped up in red-tape and left to collect dust while the bureaucracy decides what to do with him. The end result will be he will not be capable to continue his mission to discover a way to defeat the Reapers."

The young Quarian cocked her head back and to the right, looking off into space, the physical mnemonic a process of her thinking, "That is true, he is not the kind to be in dereliction of duty. And if the Alliance is anything like the Migrant fleet, the bureaucrats and admiralty will spend months deciding what to do about it. I got the impression most of them still don't believe the Reapers exist."

"My point precisely. Which brings me to why you're here. When the Illusive Man finds out I have chosen to refuse the order, he will try to assume control over Lazarus Cell operations and recall us to a Cerberus facility, at which point Shepard will be transported to a location where Cerberus can cloister him and the rest of us might very well be considered, expended assets."

There was palpable silence for a moment, Tali finally breaking it, "I don't like the sound of that."

"I know what the protocol for an expended asset is, it's as bad as it sounds. Let's just say they don't give you a farewell party and a retirement bonus."

"So what exactly is it that you have planned?"

"First off, we have some contingencies in place; additional firewalls around EDI, deployable viruses to foil hacking attempts, and a fail-safe should they all fail. This is why I asked you both here; Tali, I am going to have to ask Legion to erect additional fire-wall systems and queued virus booby traps ready to deploy if the Illusive Man attempts to hack the Normandy, additionally I'll need him to be able to attack EDI with viruses should there be a command override hidden in the code like she suspects there is."

Tali shrugged, "Sounds like the logical approach to me."

"The problem is he is Geth and he will have access to every file on this ship once he rewrites the standing firewall system, your files included."

Tali shrugged again, "Okay..."

"It could possibly jeopardize the migrant fleet." Miranda found herself more flabbergasted than the Quarian was.

"Legion has had access to my copies of the Migrant Fleet navigation protocols for weeks now." She was almost flippant.

Lawson gawked, "Seriously? And you haven't shot him yet? Am I missing something?"

"Creator Tali'zorah and this platform have reached consensus, the mutual sharing of information posing vulnerability to our respective populations creates a scenario of mutually assured destruction, since neither party considers the outcome practical it forces the default condition; trust. Neither we nor creator Tali'zorah wishes to see the other eliminated." Legion clarified.

Miranda looked confused, "So whatever happened to Geth blasting Quarians and Quarians blasting Geth."

Tali fidgeted uncomfortably, "In fairness, after the uprising the majority of the blasting was instigated by Quarians..."

"So does that mean the Geth and the Quarians are going to kiss and make up now?" The operative inquired a wry smile forming on her face.

"Geth do not kiss."

"It's an expression, Legion." Miranda sighed.

"Let's just say that the possibility of reconciliation is being explored." Tali interrupted, thankfully defusing another wordy semantics exchange. "So, once all the logistical preparations are in place, what do we do?"

"We need to get Shepard to go into hiding until situations are smoothed over. We can't risk that he will get picked up by the Alliance, the Council, or Cerberus; and the only way we can do that is by telling him that Cerberus is after him." Miranda replied, steeping her fingers, "And we have to convince him that even if he goes to the Alliance, there are enough Cerberus moles in place that he will get handed over if he goes to them."

"So we have to lie to him?" Tali almost shouted in shock and a mild amount of horror.

"Yes, we do...I don't like it either, but I would like it even less if everything he has worked for is filed away, he's restricted-to-base, and the Reapers show up and destroy the galaxy." Miranda almost understood the Quarian's indignation, a fact that seemed strange since she had made lying an integral job skill over the course of her time with Cerberus.

"Does Cerberus have agents in the Alliance military?" Tali inquired, her voice small and sounding more than a little nervous.

"Almost without a doubt. Which is why we really have to sell this."

**[!-Author's Note-!] Alright, ME3 is dropping in less than an hour in my time zone and I already have installed, ready to go, so I'll, of course, be playing for a while. Some of the early predictions I've made (but haven't included in the story yet) about the game and direction of some of the characters have been born out, but the rest remains to be seen. Please be assured I will not put any significant spoilers in the subsequent chapters until everyone has had enough time to either a.) play the game or b.) have it spoiled already courtesy of the internet.**


	22. Chapter 22

**[! Author's Note !] Have to say a few things at the start here. I'm a kid of the 80s and 90s, and from the age of 6 gaming became an integral part of my recreation time. Between 1986 and the present I've played a lot of games, seen franchises come and go, seen series that started out good that fell apart. I became invested into the mass effect franchise well after the release of the first game and was dragged in by what I felt was good story telling, a dynamic universe and mythos, and its subtle maturity.**

**When Mass Effect 3 dropped at midnight 03/06/2012 I jumped into it head long. Even with real life concerns in place, I still managed to complete a full play through within 60 hours of release and started a second. There is a lot of controversy over the conclusion of the game, and I understand that there are many who are disappointed by it. I, for one, found it moving and applaud Bioware for taking a very hard position in regards to the end. For me, as a fiction author who had a very clear idea of where I wanted to go with my stories (I'm planning on making the Cassandra's Dilemma part of a series of stories) I found myself almost in a daze; whether I was working, relaxing, conversing, eating, sleeping my mind has been constantly pouring over the end result of the series almost to the point of unhealthy fixation.**

**If they get you thinking about it that much, they've clearly done their job; and they have done an excellent job blurring the lines between the metaphysical and physical. From my own spiritual perspective, I find this to be wonderful, and I feel that in doing so they have opened more doors than they have closed. I know not everyone will agree with my perspective in this regard, but that's life. Please be assured, I have big things planned, and the ending of ME3 actually plays very well into it, as a matter of fact, I'm so eager to start telling that story I'm having a hard time keeping on track with the current one (and maybe finally getting over the writer's block with Resistance for the Battletech/Mechwarrior crowd), but I will endeavor to do so for you, my readers. The story will go on.**

**Oh, and just as another side-note, the Kentucky thing is purely story device, I am NOT from nor have I ever lived in Kentucky.**

**[! WARNING: Sex !] Chapter 22 contains sex. Sex has a history of mental abuse of readers. If encountered one should approach sex cautiously and make no sudden movements of loud noises. If disturbed sex may attack. Sex is highly unpredictable and no model of behaviors can adequately predict its behavior. If sex attacks, cover your head in a wet cloth, hide in a closet, and sing the theme song from _Three's Company_, this has been known to deter mental attacks.**

Miranda watched in muted amazement as Shepard strode into her office almost as if nothing had happened. She had, of course, noticed the tightness around his eyes and the set of his jaw, he was in tremendous physical discomfort, but was operating in spite of it. He certainly was putting a brave face on things for the crew, it was commendable but dangerous as well. Miranda knew full well the kind of traumatic injuries Shepard had endured during his career as a Systems Alliance Marine, and thus was relatively sure he knew how to respond and react to it. He had clearly been trying to maintain muscle and joint function in spite of his injuries; a herculean undertaking; she just wasn't sure how much of it was done to keep up appearances and how much of it was the discipline of an elite war fighter.

"What's up Miranda? Your message said it was urgent."

He sounded curt, it could be genuine agitation or just the pain talking. The words were crisp, coming off a focused tongue and from a non-blurred mind. He wasn't taking any pain killers or anti-inflammatory medication. Miranda wasn't sure whether she was more in awe out respect for the discipline or stunned by the machismo.

"Shepard, please have a seat, we have to discuss a change in the mission imperative."

"I was sort of under the impression we were taking Cerberus 'orders' as suggestions at this point." He half shrugged, lowering the shoulders slowly as to avoid pulling at the tear in the flesh that had so acutely made aware to him the folly of such reckless gestures.

"In this situation, the Imperative is your mission, Shepard. The problem is I have recently been made aware of information coming out of Cerberus command that changes your mission. Please sit down, I have to explain this in detail."

Shepard almost smiled, "Miranda, I'm not an invalid, you don't have to worry about me that much."

Lawson felt herself slip into her "my face is cracking" half smile she found herself doing when she couldn't suppress her emotions adequately, "I'm more concerned about it knocking you off your feet, Shepard." The seriousness returned without warning, "This is hard for me to even contemplate, it's like everyone's worst fears come true, we have to get out ahead and on top of this."

Uriah opted to comply, sitting in the chair in front of Miranda's desk. Her entire demeanor had changed, she was back to the competent professional again, it was almost like she had reverted to the human being she had been weeks before, before the Collector Base. "What is it?"

"The Illusive Man had issued a grab order..." She waited for the rage to crash then break.

"On who?"

She almost felt her jaw drop, she was honestly surprised he was unable to read between the lines on this one. She felt as if her entire demeanor gave it away, yet here he was completely oblivious.

"Shepard, the grab order is on you."

"Oh...well that took him long enough."

"Excuse me?"

"Miranda, I had been expecting this as a contingency since after we got back through the Omega 4 relay. The fact you're telling me that the order came down means that you either have anticipated my readiness to deal with such an order and want to put me off guard or-"

"Shepard, I would never-" She interrupted only to be silenced by a halting hand raised to allow him to finish.

"Or...because you view the order as unsound. Should I give you the benefit of the doubt on the latter?"

"I've already put plans in motion, contingencies to allow us to get clear when the order isn't completed. We're supposed to hand you over to Aegis, they have additional mission directives, but EDI and Legion were able to only partially decode them. Its..." she sighed, "bad. The Illusive Man wants to turn you into a integrated asset."

"Have to love operational language..."

"Brain washing, Shepard. Soft-indoctrination."

"Well...that is problematic. Logistically speaking going on the run isn't much of an option, and I'm not certain Cerberus presence in the Alliance would make going to them a logical solution." Shepard was already anticipating pit-falls, but at the same time playing into her plan to keep him clear. "What do you suggest?"

"You need to go into hiding until we can get you clear of this. We need to get guarantees of your safety before you can come up for air." Miranda mentally let out a sigh of relief that she was not having to push a hard-sell.

"I have to make sure the rest of the crew is alright too, Miranda."

"We'll see to that, but we're of secondary importance."

"Not to me. You're all my team, and I can't walk away without knowing you will all be alright."

"Shepard-"

"I'm not wired that way, Miranda. I won't leave a man behind...never again. If that means I'm in jeopardy until everyone gets clear, so be it. I'll do everything in my power to make sure everyone is safe."

Lawson sighed, knowing arguing the point would be useless from here-on. "Alright, then we have to assemble everyone and come up with a plan."

"I already have some thoughts. Stephen Hackett is a friendly, we can count on him to take care of the Normandy and the Regular crew."

"Admiral Hackett? But that's running to the alliance...Cerberus..."

"Hackett has the long view, he knows the Reapers are the real threat. He can let the crew slip through the cracks in the system. He has quashed at least one Alliance Grab order on me already. We can trust him." Shepard could see that his grasp of espionage and counter-espionage was beyond what Miranda has expected of him. "I'll conference with everyone and figure out what they want to do, we'll have Joker drop everyone off before heading to Arcturus."

"You're going to turn the ship over to the Alliance?" Miranda was audibly aghast.

"Miranda, this ship needs to go to the war effort. The Alliance is going to have more use for it when the war starts than Cerberus will."

"No, you're right I just..." she sighed, "I guess I just haven't quite come to terms with the fact that I'm not going to be Cerberus anymore after this."

Shepard cracked a wry smile, "You'll sleep better at night."

"With one eye open, maybe." Lawson half grimaced, once again being subsumed in the realization that her departure from Cerberus service would result in her having to contend with being a marked woman, again.

* * *

Tali found herself fighting back tears, it was going to be all over, again, and she would be going back to a people she found she understood less and less. Shepard, Garrus, Joker, Dr. Chakwas...they were home to her. The vagaries of DNA and culture didn't matter, they were the people she felt cared for her most unconditionally, and once again it was all going away. Memories of the bitter-sweet separation and going-of-ways after the battle of the Citadel, returning home with her head held high only to find she felt like a stranger among her own people. She felt more connected to Legion than she did to anyone on the Raya, though she could not begin to divine why it was so. Comradeship of war, that was one explanation, you learned to trust people emphatically, even love them. Above all she had the strange and biting feeling she would never see Shepard again. Shepard was right, he had to be right, he always was when it mattered. She never in her life wished for anything like she wished he was wrong; wished that the Reapers were not coming and would not eradicated them all. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if they did come it would be Shepard standing in the front line, trying to beat them back. There was a good chance she would never see any of them again, but somehow the thoughts always went back to Shepard, that strange almost anachronistic warrior messiah. The idea of losing him felt, somehow, like she would be losing a part of herself.

Sitting in her sealed environment cubicle in the secondary cargo bay she looked at the possessions she still had to pack and could only think about the feelings of loneliness already threatening to engulf her. It didn't take long before she felt the tears rolling down her face. Selfish sorrow engulfed her as she reflected on it, the thought they would all die and leave her alone in the flotilla with nothing but memories of a life that she had lived so much more fully, if only for a short while.

Shepard's infallibility; if he said the Reapers were coming, then they would come. They would come in numbers impossible to contest, and even he would not be able to stop that big a force, he was what the humans called "a voice in the wilderness," a mad prophet, and because they wouldn't heed him, they were all doomed. He would, of course, take a small band of followers into the gaping maw of machine-driven omnicide, and would die valiantly...a death she would never see, and the universe would be lessened by their loss. Tears transformed to gasping sobs, she hadn't even mourned her father this way, and the people she wept for now all still lived.

Thinking back she remembered when she found out he had died; a Citadel News Network feed they had received out in the flotilla. It was only her third week since leaving the Normandy SR-1 and her second week on the Raya when the feed came through. Jelith'niro, a young male 2 years her senior had brought her attention to it. She was just finally getting past the rather severe case of hero-worship she had developed in regards to Shepard and thought she might have found a possible husband in Jelith when he called her to the extranet terminal.

"Tali, didn't you serve with a Commander Shepard?"

"Yes, I did. He is the first human SPECTRE and defeated Sovereign and the Geth at the battle of the Citadel." She was proud once again accounting the credentials.

"It's saying on Citadel News...it's saying he's dead Tali'zorah."

She broke down right there, on the spot. Screaming that it was impossible, sobbing, collapsing to the deck in tears. In front of her own people, she was ripped apart and exposed by her emotions over a human who had viewed her as a little sister at best. When his status was later changed to "missing in action, presumed dead" she found a glimmer of hope that she clung to. It was a weak hope, and by the time she had traveled to Freedom's Progress, she had almost completely given up on the belief that Shepard was still alive and was determined to move on with her life when he was thrust back in it again. Three months back in her life had served to undo what she had spent two years trying to accomplish; to forget about how much it hurt not being around him anymore. And now, he was leaving her life again and she felt somewhere deep in her being that it would be a permanent departure.

* * *

"Grunt, Vakarian, make sure you've got everything properly packed and secured, and toss any contraband you have now, they can be real sticklers on Illium." Stybeck was just a small component of the frenzy of activity in the cargo/launch bay. Shepard had really dropped a bomb on them all; he often said or asked things of them that left them speechless, but his declaration that they needed to disband had seemed to come out of no-where. It had been a total shock. The revelation about the grab order, the need to go into hiding, and finally the order to suspend operations and for everyone to go their own way. Garrus had immediately declared he was going to go with Shepard, Grunt volunteered to accompany him moments later, it had been the human's reply that had caught them both off guard.

"No, that's not possible. Anyone who is with me is a viable target. I'm not going to put you in harm's way for my sake, that's just not a pragmatic solution." The spectre grinned, "Besides Garrus, the second you got in trouble I'd have to come drag you out by your heels and right now I'm not in good enough shape to have to fight an army to rescue your Turian ass."

He had of course quipped back, "Yeah, there's a first time for everything, Shepard..."

As it was Garrus had decided to head to Tuchunka with Grunt for a few weeks. The Krogan had contacted Urdnot Wrex about employment for Richard Cole's crew. The case may have been that Wrex just wanted to pander to his new prize bull, it might have been that Grunt made a convincing case, or it could just be that operational Air Superiority was a strategic boon for clan Urdnot, but whatever the case, Wrex had agreed to employ the team. It was at that point Grunt had done something Garrus would never have expected; he had asked the Turian to come to Tuchunka with him and fight alongside him. It was a strange request to say the least. His status as part of Grunt's krantt during his Right of Passage and his camaraderie with Wrex during their mission to take down Saren provided him some degree of protection against the machinations of other Krogan on the planet, not that he was too sure he had met the Krogan who could take him down yet, but it was best not to tempt fate.

He had perhaps been even more surprised when he accepted readily, albeit with the stipulation that it would only be a month or two and he planned to return to Palaven. Grunt had shrugged, claiming there were not battles worth fighting there but accented to the condition. The preparation time had been limited, and the preparations themselves, cursory. They would be disembarking on Illium to catch a transport to the DMZ, and at their current rate of travel, it wouldn't even be six hours before they arrived. That was the problem with a sudden change of plans, it forced priorities to be reassigned. He hadn't been prepared to disembark until the Citadel stop-over, and thus the packing process that would have taken a little more than an hour when he was fully prepared for it took closer to four, last minute packing had been a luxury time on both the old and new Normandy had allowed. There was just one more thing he had to do before he left.

It had taken a few moments before Shepard had answered his door, the whole time Garrus was mentally going over what he would say. What to say to the man he respected so much; equal parts war god and best friend. The door opened and he just sort of stumbled over the words, "Well...in a few hours...we'll be getting off on Illium. Grunt...he talked me into going to Tuchunka for a while...not too long I guess...be good to see Wrex, maybe crack a few heads." His friend had just smiled, those kind eyes that had a way of making your forget that you had seen him advancing on a heavily reinforced enemy position in a fire-fight, walking slow in the open and relying his ability to engage and reduce threats as an alternative to kinetic barriers.

"Cole's crew, Grunt, and Wrex...sounds like you'll be busy, and probably enjoying yourself just a little bit."

"Yeah, guess you've got me hooked on adventure and danger, Shepard. I'll never be satisfied with C-Sec again."

The human proffered his hand, "Have fun Garrus, just hope when it comes down to it we can head back into the suck, side by side."

Garrus shook the hand firmly, "Wouldn't miss it for the galaxy."

The Turian released the grip and started to walk away, mentally damning himself for not saying what he felt needed to be said. For all the closeness he felt, there was still a strange sense of intimidation; Shepard's ability scared him more than just a little, and to be the friend and confidant of that power had more or less slapped him into a situation where he had no experience with what the rule-set was. He found a mote of courage he must have held in reserve for some day when it would be the only thing keeping him alive or pulling a trigger and stopped in his tracks. He turned back to face the human, stepping forward with determination and embracing the man, holding the embrace a moment then letting him go. As he spoke there was a trilling quaver in his voice, "Shepard, serving with you has been an honor and a privilege, and it has been the great pride of my life to be able to call you my friend."

Garrus fully realized that if his species had possessed lachrymal glands like most other species he would be in tears right now. Shepard placed a hand on his shoulder, smiled at him, looked him right in the eye and said exactly what he should have, as commander and friend, "Garrus, we'll get through this, and when the Reapers are all gone, we'll look back on days like today and reminisce about all the crazy things we did."

* * *

Something about seeing Samara in the conservative Asari dress made her seem even more beautiful. It covered most of her neck, both arms, and was floor length, but it clung to her lithe form just enough to be suggestive despite the amount of skin it covered. The jewelry that marked her office of justicar had been removed leaving her looking like nothing more than the elegant Asari matriarch she, at her core, was without the trappings of the code and the violence it engendered. The plan had gone smoothly, it was likely nobody on the Normandy, save for EDI who was the partner-in-crime for this one, realized he had even left the ship. It was all by design, if nobody knew when he had left the ship and where, it added another layer to their safety. If before they reached the Citadel they were to discover he had disembarked, all they could say was "somewhere on Illium" which turned pursuit into a needle-in-the-haystack type affair.

Samara was more than a little surprised at the complexity of the plan. The orders were simple; disembark at Nos Astra, head to a pre-specified address, take the omnitool located there and change out of her armor. After that was done, Shepard would contact her as to where they should meet. He had given her a judicious amount of time to do so, it had been three hours since she had disembarked from the Normandy before she got the call. Something about being in regular clothing again felt good, it was almost as if she had taken her Justicar status off with the armor and in donning the dress had become a new being. In the throng it would be easy for them to lose themselves and avoid security footage or being spotted by celebrity hunters and gossip column mavens. Some part of her wondered if the dress in question had been specially selected for its sensual properties. To be clear, whoever had selected it was not so much looking to get a rise out of Shepard as from her. As Asari evening wear went the cut was conservative, but the fabric was something completely different. Clinging to her as it was now she noted its softness against her skin, and each time she moved it caressed ever so slightly. She found it distracting, enticing, even lurid. She almost felt like she was blushing, it was strange, but some combination of stimuli was causing a rather pronounced sense of sexual frustration to wash over her. The Nos Astra air was thick with the smells of Asari night life, the subtle body smells of competition, challenge, spontaneity and lust. Sounds of air cars, faintly wafting music and news reports, the low hum and occasional chattering of voices engaged in a multitude of activities. The breeze carrying the pungent, sweet, and spicy hints of flowers, restaurants, and cosmopolitan sexuality tickled at her nose, and she felt the heat beginning to grow. She wasn't even thinking about the code, the corruption of this place, or the crimes she would have felt obliged to punish.

When she felt the hand sliding along her waist she almost jumped, breath catching she snapped her head around to see his eyes peering from behind a cap bearing the letters "BC" and a crude effigy of a predatory earth mammal's head. This was the most dressed-down she had seen him outside the confines of his quarters or a sparring/work-out session. The black hooded sweat shirt and beige trousers helped conceal his magnificent physique, but something about it struck her as trying too hard. He was trying too hard to not be who he was, as if in concealing it he was making it something just for her. He was a special luxury she alone was allowed to unwrap away from the eyes of others. Maiden thoughts, maiden feelings, either he was the most devious sexual manipulator she had ever met, or maybe she was genuinely out-of-control in love. She let the breath out in a small sigh, realizing her wild eyed gaze as she looked him over. She was rewarded with him cocking his head to the left slightly, fixing her with a recondite stare. When he spoke it was very soft, allowing it to carry to her, but then be lost in the buzz of Nos Astra, "Are you alright?"

She rolled her neck slightly, fixing her gaze on his face, locking his eyes and making him look right at her and nothing else, "Did you pick out this dress?"

"Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not as such. I will explain it later."

"I'm transferring the location of the safe-house to your omnitool, I'll go ahead, you follow 23 minutes later." He opened up the device, tapping holographic GUI interface keys.

"Why not just go together?"

He stopped, "Wouldn't it look a little strange?"

"A human with an Asari?"

"More like some ex-mil punk and an Asari matriarch."

Samara took a step in closer, digging fingers into the chest of his sweatshirt, pawing at him in a needy way, "Some matriarchs keep consorts for the purpose of fulfilling our need for...affection."

"Wouldn't I fit the bodyguard image a bit more than I would the boy-toy?" the left corner of his mouth arched slightly.

"Who is to say one can't be the other?" Samara almost cooed the words, her fingers dropped to pull at his left pants pocket in a leading way.

Shepard cocked his head to the side slightly again, arching the left brow, "Are you alright?" He asked again.

She let out a long sighing breath, rolling her neck slightly as she did, "I am not feeling very composed right now."

"I'm sorry, I'll get a cab..."

"Uriah, it's not in a bad way. I would like to go back to the apartment with you, now, please."

* * *

The urge to strike, to pounce, to consume him as soon as the door closed was almost too much for Samara to resist. When Shepard had placed the concealed M-6 and M-12 he had been carrying on the counter, she found herself at least slightly glad she hadn't. He seemed oblivious to her motivation that they return to their safe house immediately. Of course there had been a series of procedures involved with even that relatively benign act. She was unsure what kind of personal resources Shepard had at his disposal, but apparently several of the condominiums in the building were either rented to him or, at the very least, were accessible to him. He had exited the elevator a floor before her, heading down a hallway after instructing her to go to the apartment number he had sent to her omnitool. By the time she had entered the apartment, he was already there, any initial curiosity and possible inquiries were pre-empted with a "don't ask."

He tossed the cap unceremoniously on the counter on top of the two weapons and began peeling off the sweatshirt, still keenly aware of the pain in the healing wounds covering his body but no longer imminently concerned about them rending open again. It was strange, not being on a ship. Home had always been his quarter or his rack and foot-locker. Impersonal billets wherever he was stationed, mass-production lower-bidder bedding, counters, dressers, and plumbing fixtures. The opulence was something new and foreign. Liara had really pulled the strings to get him set up in a place like this, part of him wondered if she would have been so accommodating if she had known that Samara would be with him, or did she know already? She was, after all, the Shadow Broker now. Placing the toe of his right athletic shoe on the heal of the left he slid first one foot out then, using his socked left toes did the same to allow easy removal of the right. He reached idly into his pockets pulling a pair of spare thermals which he tossed on top of the cap he even now had placed haphazardly on top of the two concealed weapons he had carried.

He sighed, not out of exhaustion, though climbing up from the balcony below and skirting along the low wall before swinging into the balcony at the current apartment had been slightly trying on muscles still sore and inflamed from the injuries they sustained. He had managed the feet handily, the motivation of not falling to his death had been sufficient to allow him to overlook the pain. Rather, his sigh was one of exasperation and more than a little confusion. What would he do now? He hadn't had a vacation in the better part of four years by his reckoning, six if you counted the fact he had been dead for two. He turned to see what Samara was doing just in time to see her taking off the black and grey dress exposing her naked body underneath. He turned his head back and away quickly, some strange element of human propriety forcing him to not look upon the body he had seen before because this was not a situation where it was appropriate.

"There is a closet with a few things for you in the master bedroom." He commented flatly, swallowing hard as he felt the almost-pubescent excitement at being in the same room with a nude woman.

"I was always lead to believe that human males were highly sexual creatures, Shepard." She watched him carefully, noting the way he had looked away immediately when he turned and noticed her state of undress. His body language, the tension, it wasn't some sudden reaction of disgust or displeasure, he was being respectful.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were changing," he paused then chuckled, "Does seem like a bit of an unusual place to do it though."

She walked past him, quite frankly, the dress over her left arm, holding the sandals she had been wearing in her right, and into the bedroom. She looked over her shoulder, "Does it bother you?"

Shepard once again averted his gaze after a quick once-over of her back, buttocks and legs. The sensual curve inwards at the waist leading to a shallow roundness in the buttocks tapering into long exquisitely shaped thighs. And the neck...the long elegant neck, the flesh just a shade lighter than her face. He remembered his nose and face buried in that neck, the tender skin of her throat as he breathed in the subtle fragrance of the oil she would anoint herself with after bathing. He had not completely written off the chance that their one night of passion had and would be their only one, he held out hope, but he was prepared to accept it as thus if need be.

Samara turned, facing him and leaning against the frame of the door to the bedroom, watching him carefully for his body language and reaction. He cocked his head back, looking up towards the ceiling, contemplation written on every inch of his war-tempered body. She was aware of the sense of urgency in her own body, the nipples firmed by the arousal of the dress, the heat between her legs and in the pit of her stomach, the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. But still she watched with interest to see what his body would do.

He turned to look at her, not paying attention to her body but looking directly in her eyes, "Would it bother you if I said 'no'?"

She gave him a cryptic smile, "Then perhaps I shall make a habit of this."

* * *

Joined, Samara began to search through his thoughts, this time trying to better reach an understanding of why he was who he was. Their first night together, locked in the primeval act she had no control and more or less just fell through him, now, she was trying to find the root of the emotions and experiences he was dumping into her even as his physical body filled hers. She found it hard to focus on either the joining or the physical act of sex, her body consciousness and upper cognitive functions fight for control of her brain. Every time she had stabilized her descent into his essence, something he did to her body would snatch her away to a sensation of lips and tongue on her skin, fingers and palms plying her body. The things he did with his mouth alone created a subtle madness of physical sensation that felt as if it was strong enough to break the joining altogether. At those moments her mind would sink so deep into the sensation of her body that she almost forgot what was occurring in his mind.

Lifting her head and shoulders from the bed she would look down to the place where his face was buried, her legs over his shoulders as he did things that felt incomprehensible with tongue and lips. Running her fingers through his hair, she focused her thoughts into the texture against her fingers, then from that feeling...his feelings once again came to the fore, and she was once again experiencing the spiritual plurality of him rather than the physical. Memories of furred animals, pet with a mixture of fascination and excitement as a child, another of rubbing sand out of his hair, another of his fingers entwined in the long hair of a human woman. Still, the memories of the dark places that created the sadness in those eyes she loved eluded her. Her curiosity was as maddening as the orgasm building in her, a thing she wanted because it eluded her, such selfishness on her part. She chided herself mentally, realizing that it was wrong to manipulate their passion for some sense of curiosity, she had to give something back to her human lover just as he gave to her. Lowering her hands to his jaw she gently coaxed him up to where their lips could join.

And so it continued, the ministrations of her own feminine altar eventually switching to ministration of her own mouth and lips by his. The joining of his sex with hers and the perfect synthesis of the sexual act, he inside her, she inside him; each penetrating the other, so as his body penetrated hers as did her mind penetrate his. Her cries, his breathing, words of love whispered in languages she didn't understand, the light rain that had begun to fall splattering on the transparent bedroom roof, the sound of rustling sheets; it was all a symphony to which the joining of mind and sex continued on in a strange mixture of chaotic emotions leading to the ordered end of final climax.

* * *

Shepard sat at the edge of the bed, experiencing the physical fulfillment of the sex act, the emotional satisfaction of being with the one he loved, but also a strange kind of sadness he couldn't quite isolate or understand, the opposite of catharsis, the antithesis of release. Samara moaned softly as she awoke, stretching her boding and writhing just a little against the softness of luxury sheets. He turned at the torso, reaching back and running his hand along her side down to her thigh and finally calf. The feel of that skin, it was somehow intoxicating, almost addictive, he didn't want to stop feeling it, touching it, being near it. Some memory, he couldn't even ascertain what it was, painted his thoughts in shades of melancholy and sadness and he took a shallow sobbing breath.

She met his eyes smiled softly then sat upright, leaning on her left arm, reaching over to stroke his shoulder with her right. The sadness was there again, in the eyes, stronger and more apparent than she usually saw it. Just how damaged was he?

"I love you, Uriah."

He turned his head back, as if the words stung him, his reply was quiet, soft, almost vulnerable sounding in its own right, "I love you, too."

She sat up fully, walking towards where he sat on her knees, his head still hung and his back arched, elbows and forearms resting across his thighs. Scar tissue, still a virulent pink stood out on the sweat sheened skin. Broad and muscular, beautiful to her in its own right, she lay her head on one of the shoulders and wrapped her arms around him. Breasts pressing into the hotness of the back, lips gently kissing his neck below his ear. His hand came up and took hers, holding it tightly as if it was the anchor, as if it would catch him from falling.


	23. Chapter 23

Liara watched the surveillance footage for the 12th time, sitting back in the chair, her left leg bent at the knee and pulled up close to her body, her right leg in its half of a lotus position. Her left arm was wrapped around the raised leg while her hand covered her mouth. She didn't know if she wanted to scream, cry, or smile. All of the confused emotions were tempered by more than just a little bit of shame, she had justified putting the security bugs into the apartments for Shepard's safety, instead she now found herself spying on him, watching him and this Samara woman; torturing herself with their love making and the strange simpatico they seemed to share in their moments of quiet cohabitation. They were every bit the couple, living like normal beings despite, or perhaps in spite, of their respective backgrounds. They cooked, they cleaned, she meditated, he worked on his physical training, occasionally they went out, not just for supplies or the occasional reconnaissance to make sure they weren't being watched. He poured over books and extranet articles, tomes of military strategy stacked in some esoteric regimentation, passages and pages marked with strips of paper. In the evening she would often pour him a drink and they would talk. They preformed stretching exercised together, his limberness and agility matching her own; a fact she held in mild awe especially when considering Samara's level of flexibility was that of an Asari one sixth her age. It was a strange existence seen as a muted world viewed through the upper corners of the apartment's rooms.

Even now she was watching their latest moments of passion, the way he kissed and touched her with such conviction and wordless affection threatened to break Liara's heart every time she saw it, but she still found herself unable to look away. Indeed, she had rewound and watched this sequence 11 times now, hoping she would eventually be able to make sense of the emotions she now felt and the overwhelming sense of numbness creeping up on her. She somehow understood that she could never be in the place of that Asari, she lacked the maturity he needed, the christening of war, the warrior ethos, the loss and pain, and personal triumph. The very fact that Justicar Samara was such a hard woman is what made her so impossibly soft with the equally hard, if not harder, human she had chosen as her late-life mate. There was almost a sad desperation in their mating, like each was looking for something in the other that knew was there but could not find. She watched his naked body nestled between her legs, his broad upper body eclipsing most of hers from the bug. The sad desperation would melt into beautiful urgency at points, then shift back again. She pawed at him, clinging to his shoulders, arms and back, kissing him frequently, running fingers through his short golden brown hair. She could see where her fingers dug at him, shortened nails failing to find purchase as she clung to him as if for her very life. Her expressions of ecstasy occasionally visible as he moved, her shuddering climaxes, and the eventual culmination of his heavy breathed final orgasm, muscled straining in that body she found so beautiful. The love Liara saw on the Justicar's face was the proverbial red-hot goad.

Their first day in the apartment had come as a shock, arriving in the late afternoon she had opted to review the footage the next day, when she saw their first act of love making she had almost felt sick. She had first thought the Asari may have been an escort or just another club waif willing to throw her azure at anything with a winning smile. She found herself a little disappointed; she had been sure Shepard had better taste than that, but she reconciled it all with the understanding that humans, particularly males had strong sexual urges and drives. She assumed he was just "blowing off some steam" as humans put it as a nod to the machines of their past, and she was ready to admit she could understand why. It was the way she kissed him that had forced a second look. A stranger would not have kissed him like that, even if she knew who he was, she wouldn't have kissed him like that. Many Asari did not kiss at all, preferring the act of the joining as an expression of intimacy. Admittedly, compared to the physical exertion of the joining, a kiss was much simpler, and for a human, that could not initiate the joining, it must seem more familiar and accessible.

The single element that probably bothered her more than any other was the strangely morose body language Shepard would sometimes exhibit after the fact. It was the postures of regret, remorse, and depression. The way he would flinch when she touched him, the way he hung his head, the way he would grit his teeth in the shower afterwards. She ached for him, she wanted to sooth away the pain that was engulfing him and she couldn't fully understand how a being like Samara could just miss the fact he was hurting so badly. Twinges of anger, jealousy, indignation, and shock seemed to try to cut through the numbness. She seemed to somehow realize the anger wasn't omnidirectional, it was focused specifically on the elder Asari that was enjoying all the things that she in the headiness of her maiden years had only ever been able to dream of ever since meeting the charismatic human on the Normandy SR1 over two years ago. And indeed she had dreamed, during those cursory brushes against his mind when they had joined to further explore the meaning of the Prothean beacon, she had felt hints of the man he was, and it was intoxicating. He was considered, even then with the scars marring his face, handsome by almost universal standard. Each race seemed to find something noble and attractive in him, often to the extent of a sort of reverse-personification. "He has a Turian jaw." "He has Asari eyes." The inadvertent sex-symbol of the Council as beings from most races tried to further rationalize his almost god-like status after the destruction of Sovereign. She of course had always found him strangely beautiful. She felt her eyes begin to well up in face of the frustration.

"Liara..." The Drell voice was almost pleading. "Just stop it, already. "

She didn't reply, just watched intently as the scene continued to unfold. Analytically she was noting certain similarities in the five episodes of sexual congress she had witnessed over the last seven days. Samara initiated coitus, but she left control to Shepard. He seemed to be much more subdued and affectionate with his love making than most of the human males were in regards to Asari based on the surveillance she had witnessed in her role as Shadow Broker. Something struck her suddenly, remembering something about Samara's age. Asari in the later matriarch stage usually had greatly reduced sex drives; not as a result of physical infirmity and the normal side-effects of aging as did other species. Asari usually maintained respectable physical condition and would rather broadly be considered "beauty" up until their time of death, but they typically saw a pronounced drop-off in physical intimacy because they had usually advanced to a stage where their minds considered it trivial. Having spent a few centuries as a Justicar she may have been celibate, though it was not a requirement of the code, but to imagine a 900 year old Asari rutting like a maiden barely out of her 100s was strange. Something about the meals they had prepared in the past few days immediately popped into her mind, shellfish or ichthyoids and fruit. She brought up an extra-net browser and began searching, the results stunned her; traditional Asari pregnancy cuisine. So she was pregnant...almost without a doubt by the contribution of Shepard. Hormone levels frequently went haywire with Asari in the early stages of pregnancy, the effects more pronounced with the age of the Asari that was pregnant.

"What is it?" Ferron asked, reminding Liara he was still there.

"It would seem..." she paused, forcing any emotion that would betray her feelings from her voice, "that Justicar Samara and Commander Shepard are going to be having a child together."

The Drell was silent a moment, "I'm sorry, I know how much you...feel, for him." He tried not to let tinges of hurt sneak into his voice and failed.

She pulled up the video logs, re-queued footage from their love making two nights before. Skipping past, the foreplay, the pause of joining and the physical act, after it was over, as they both lay naked, Shepard moved down on the bed, his head in line with her abdomen. He stroked low on her stomach, where her womb would be. Placing his face near it, his lips forming words; speaking to the developing embryo inside. He knew, she wasn't hiding it from him, it had to be his beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Liara found herself inexplicably smiling, "How intriguing."

"Liara..."

"It doesn't matter anymore," She turned to look at the Drell, her expression a self-evident mask of bitter-sweet joy, smiling through the tears, "he's happy."

* * *

Grunt was enjoying the battle fury slowly building in his gut. This was the way to make war, to crush your enemy utterly, to leave him without recourse, to break his spirit before the battle was even joined. Still, he tempered the blood rage. Krogan were expected to fight with fury and very little else, he would fight with fury and intelligence. Rather than a club that would smash a body to bits, he would be the knife that cut out its heart. Precisely aimed, well coordinated, utterly efficient violence. Wrex had proven how wise a leader he was to Grunt early on. He recognized the pedigree in Grunt early on, the invitro training and the tempering at the hands of Shepard, the young Krogan was born to be a special forces fighter. Grunt also noted what seemed to be a strange camaraderie with Garrus that almost bordered on friendly affection. The clan leader seemed immensely pleased that the younger Krogan had convinced the Turian to join him, quipping that Garrus might get to enjoy a "real fight".

Their target was one of the last bastions of Weyrloc control near the Murgleck Valley, a semi-intact industrial sector. Urdnot forces had come in contact while patrolling the area and were immediately pinned down by the enemy force. Grunt's team and the gunship had been dispatched as a relief force, and then upon linking up with patrol forces, a hunter killer unit. The two humans on the door guns of the modified A-61 were laying fire into the landing zone they were approaching. The sounds of battle below were drowned out by the engines and the precise bursts of fire from Rincon and Kowalski. The young Krogan checked everything one last time, looking forward to fast-roping in under fire. Over the sounds of the VTOL borne insertion, he heard the human-behaving Batarian in the cockpit. "Apache 2, E T A to L Z, zero one mikes. One seven enemy foot mobiles spotted."

Across from Grunt, Stybeck replied, "Roger, Actual." He leaned in close, shouting to make sure he was heard. "E T A, one minute. Be advised, L Z is hot, repeat, L Z is hot."

The Krogan to Grunt's right didn't seem to be thrilled about a heli-borne insertion, less thrilled that the ship was crewed by humans and a Batarian, and even less thrilled that his squadmates consisted of an adolescent and a Turian.

"I had thought between my adventures on Omega with the blood pack and your mission with Shepard and Solus to find his student, clan Weyrloc was effectively destroyed." Garrus shouted over the din.

Grunt grimaced, "Some idiots don't realize they're dead until you take their heads off."

"At least they're Krogan..." The other Urdnot, Gulv spat, letting his ire at working with a Turian show.

Grunt turned his head to stare at him menacingly, "Any Krogan who doesn't recognize the supremacy of Urdnot and instead tries to fight it should be culled to ensure they don't pass on faulty genes."

Garrus let what approximated for a Turian grin slip, "Wrex sure had done well for himself. Was damn good seeing him again."

Stybeck got everyone's attention to the rear of the compartment, "Line of departure, twenty seconds, snap up."

The Turian and younger Krogan complied with almost instinctive proficiency, both checking the capacity left on the heat-sink in their M-96s, Gulv on the other hand had to be helped by Stybeck finally getting linked up to the rope standing in the back, shaking his shoulders with more than a little anticipation. Grunt noted the almost clumsy manner in which the other Krogan carried himself and shook his head at Garrus, the Turian's mandibles quivering in an expression Grunt knew to mean, "We'll just have to take care of it ourselves."

Garrus brought a reassuring fist down on the right shoulder plate of Grunt's armor in a series of three quick taps, "You ready to do this buddy?"

"Let's do this...get some." He replied, affecting Shepard's Marine-isms.

A burst from the M-350 drowned out everything as Grunt saw more than heard Stybeck beginning to shout the "fall out" command. Garrus and he exchanged nods and jumped from the gunship's enlarged compartment, falling quickly, bodies parallel to the ground like Shepard had illustrated back on the Normandy. The slowed the last two and a half meters of descent, landing on their feet and falling into a crouched fighting position as they scanned the LZ with their Mattocks, immediately training on a pair of Weyrloc/Blood Pack minions that had been operating behind a concrete divider.

The pair of Blood Pack Vorcha, clearly having never witness Krogan engaging in a tactical air drop much less one working with a Turian on Tuchunka of all places, were too slow in reaction to the hostile intrusion into their AO and were quickly reduced by a series of well placed shots from the M-96s that had quickly sighted-down and acquired them. A trio of rounds shredded the upper chest cavity of the first, snapping bones, exploding organs, and shattering five vertebrae. The second hadn't even raised its rifle to its shoulder before the back of its head exploded up and outwards as the first shot hit, the second thoroughly destroying its neck, leaving everything above the shoulders a tattered pulp of flesh and bone.

"Lucky shots..." Gulv growled as he fought with the linkage on his repelling gear.

"Watch your noise discipline!" Grunt rumbled in a low voice, mentally reminding himself to request that Urdnot Wrex not send any more idiots into combat alongside him and Garrus.

Garrus was already crouched over the dead Vorcha, the effectively headless one still twitching somehow as its left leg seemed to be trying to run, muscles misinterpreting some final signal sent from what had passed as its brain. He turns to look over the Grunt and tosses a pair of thermal clips and an unused grenade, one right after the other. Grunt catches them easily, shoving first one, then the next in his LBE rig he had "appropriated" from the Normandy after the downed Reaper raid. The grenade lobbed in a high arc, giving him plenty of time to house the thermals before coming down and handily into his hand, he examines the weapon, notes the markings identifying it as HE fragmentation. His lips curl back in a ferocious smile at the Turian, who nods understanding that the young Krogan will put it to interesting use. Grunt crouches and advances to an adjacent piece of cover, the burn out and stripped hull of a tomka, he drops beside the hull. Their target stands some 50 meters ahead, a Weyrloc fighting position built in some old low building, now acting as a bunker. On the opposite side of the position, Weyrloc forces are pounding away at the trapped Urdnot scouting party.

Making eye contact with Garrus , Grunt points a finger at each of his eyes, then gestures towards the bunker. The Turian responds, showing a closed fist, followed by all three digits extended then just two fingers. Grunt finds himself immediately envious of those species that evolved with more than three digits on each hand, he nods, bringing his rifle to his shoulder and stepping out from cover. Advancing knees bent, the Turian falls in next to him. As they step past the crest of the small rise on which they are situated he spots a quintet of enemies; a Weyrloc Krogan, three Vorcha, and a varren, all clearly oblivious to what had happened to the pair of Vorcha pickets. Grunt cuts eyes over to Garrus seeing him tightening his stock-weld, preparing to begin firing. Action forward drill; Garrus reduces the foot mobiles while Grunt provides suppression and mop-up fire. He continues forward, waiting for his Turian comrades first shot when a bellowing roar from behind shatters their tactical preparedness.

Gulv's battle charge accomplishes exactly what he had hoped for, drawing the enemy's attention so he might battle with them in the Krogan way. By the time he sees the five Weyrloc waiting at the bunker, it's too late. One of the Vorcha looses his rocket at the Krogan, foolishly silhouetted against the horizon. His colossal failure doesn't even register in his brain before he feels the world flying forward, past and through him and everything goes black as he clatters to the ground.

"Contact forward!" Garrus shouts, his M-96 starts chattering as he quickly fires the semi-automatic rifle.

Grunt doesn't need anything further, his own weapon begins tapping in time two seconds later. He knows that the two second delay will give Garrus enough time for a thermal clip change before his own runs dry, if Gulv hadn't been such a fool they would have had fire superiority, now they could only rely on the violence of action and the fact that the Weyrloc forces had seemed to initially ignore them entirely. Garrus' fire walked over the trio of Vorcha which collapse in twitching, screeching piles, spilling blood, bile, and viscera onto the debris strewn ground. The enemy Krogan roars and starts firing a shot-gun far outside its optimal range, the shot that does manage to land lacks the capacity to penetrate, following the path of least resistance it follows the curve of Grunt's armor and flies away. A single pellet bites into the charging Varren which immediately yelps then takes off in an oblique path, away from his prospective targets and the fight in general. Grunt stops his advance, pulling the rifle tight into his shoulder, mid chest on the shotgun wielding Weyrloc, knowing that the muzzle climb and ballistic arc will put his shots right into the Krogan's unarmored face. He squeezes the trigger four times in quick succession, he doesn't even need to move sight picture as he is rewarded with the slap sound of high velocity metallic projectiles colliding with flesh and bone at speeds where the latter two cannot sufficiently displace for the former.

Garrus completes the clip change just in time to see the Krogan corpse, devoid of anything resembling facial features slides down the exterior wall of the bunker. "That's one way to do it..." the Turian quipped.

* * *

Grunt steps deliberately in the mass of entrails spilling from one of the Vorcha that had been caught in the grenade blast and subsequent explosion of the rocket ammunition they had foolishly opted to leave armed and out of their crates. His lower half was somewhere on the other side of the room, where his left arm and right hand were was anyone's guess. Garrus was sifting through the "intelligence" inside the bunker, trying to determine what remained of Weyrloc enemy strength in the AO, a task Grunt was relatively certain would prove fruitless. Okeer had never imprinted anything remotely flattering about Weyrloc as a clan, he was beginning to understand why, the quality of their warriors was low despite their wealth and the quality of their equipment. They also chose poor lackeys, the Vorcha didn't even count much as cannon fodder, the fact that one had likely killed Gulv didn't improve Grunt's assessment as he was relatively sure a Turian child or just about any full grown Salarian could have accomplished the same feet with varying degrees of ease.

Sounds from outside the bunker snatched the young Krogan's attention. He saw through the opening that had previously served as a Weyrloc fighting position that the Urdnot scouts were approaching. A pair of heavily armored warriors were with them, from the coloration of their armor he could immediately identify them as "adopted" former Garatog soldiers. Grunt quickly took stock of the room, the eight dead Vorcha and three dead Weyrloc Krogan a testament to how ineffectual these former Garatog were, they hadn't scratched a single enemy, he and Garrus had killed all eighteen enemies without support or assistance.

"Who goes there?" Shouted one of the warriors, bringing his assault rifle to bear on the slit opening in the bunker.

"Urdnot reaction team, all clear." Grunt shouted in return.

The five Krogan entered the bunker, stepping over the dead Blood Pack forces that had been cut down while trying to fight their way out of the bunker when Garrus and Grunt had entered. One made a sound of disgust as a piece of Vorcha crunched and splattered under his heavy foot-fall. Grunt surveyed the room, rifle lowered to a cradle carry. Garrus was still sifting through data on the desktop console left, mercifully, intact during their assault.

One of the former Garatog warriors lifted his shotgun, "Turian!" he roared.

"Check your fire!" Grunt bellowed.

"What are you talking about! It's a Turian!"

"The Turian is with me!" Grunt growled from clenched teeth, eyes narrowed threateningly, the rifle butt now buried, almost instinctively, in his shoulder.

"But...it's a Turian." The larger warrior sneered.

"I said he's with me!" The room almost shook, Grunt turned back a split second, seeing Garrus still extracting data, clearly trusting completely in the younger Krogan's ability to watch his back, and front for that matter.

The offending warrior growled, lowering the shotgun from being fully brought to bear. Grunt didn't allow himself to relax but had eased off the pressure on the trigger. The bang of the shotgun report, startled him. His eyes darted back to Garrus who had ducked instinctively, pellet strikes further marring the wall and ceiling behind him.

"Oops!" The Garatog looked back at his fellows, grinning.

Grunt didn't so much charge as appear in front of the Krogan, his hand coming down and wrenching the weapon away, before the Garatog could respond there was a sickening crack as Grunt slammed his forehead into the larger, fully bone-crested Krogan. He collapsed at the impossibly strong head-butt from the pubescent Krogan, grasping his face and choking in a mix of alarm and pain.

"This Turian is a member of my Kraant and a personal friend of Urdnot Wrex! If you so much as look at him one more time I'm going to skin you alive!" He roared deafeningly, he looked back to Garrus whose right mandible twitched in amusement, "...and then I'll let him be the one to cut your quad off and stuff 'em down your throat."

The scouts nodded to themselves, then to Grunt in respect. Power and leadership, cunning and ferocity, strength and honor; the best of Krogan and the hallmarks of true Urdnot.

"Thanks for saving our quads," the head scout intoned, "We were way to lightly armed to deal with the attack. Weyrloc is all but broken, but we hadn't anticipated that any of them would be operating this close to Urdnot territory."

Grunt nodded, "That's exactly why Wrex sent us."

"Grunt!"

The younger Krogan turned, "Find something, Garrus?"

"This is bad, looks like this was one of four Weyrloc teams in the area, they're planning a raid on the female camp." Garrus' multiple nose slots flared, his mandibles twitching in what could only be construed as indignation or fury, "We gotta put the rest of these varren down, hard."

"I'm...going...with you!" From the door the savaged Gulv croaked, his armor all but destroyed and his right should savaged by shrapnel.

Grunt turned to the scouts, "Can you get this pyjak back to our F O B?"

The Scout leader nodded, "We'll take care of it."

Grunt touched his hand to his ear, the gesture opening his omnitools communication interface, "Apache, this is Bouncer Actual, Bouncer requires exfil at primary L Z, over."

"Roger that Bouncer, E T A 3 minutes, over." came the modulated reply.

"Bouncer Actual, I copy, out." Grunt hoisted his rifle, grinning, "C'mon, Garrus, we've got some damsels in distress."

Garrus nodded, a Turian smirk in return, "Grunt, calling a Krogan female a damsel can get you killed in this system."

* * *

"She's one hell of a boat, Steve." Anderson stood admiring the graceful yet aggressive lines of the SR-2.

Even as they spoke, alliance teams were stripping the Cerberus markings from the Normandy with "mass" blasters. The micro-singularities accomplishing quickly what sand had traditionally been used to do, in a fraction of the time it took the mundane silica. The surrender of the ship to Alliance authority a few days earlier had come as a shock. When the ship arrived, Anderson had been personally waiting at the docking bay to accept the surrender and convince his friend to come in quietly, the Alliance grab order was common knowledge for anyone with access to command level Alliance directives. He was certain that he could convince Shepard to come along quietly and not make things difficult. He hated the order, it was bullshit, but it would be in everyone's interest if they got Shepard back to Earth quietly to sort everything out. With the Batarians screaming bloody murder over Bahak, the more quietly and quickly they could get him back to Vancouver, London, or Shreveport the better.

When the two Cerberus operatives filed off the ship at the airlock he had immediately demanded to know where Shepard was. They looked at him helplessly, "We don't exactly know." Anderson was surprised that he found himself surprised, he knew better than to second guess Shepard, he knew he was to resourceful to get caught up in a political damage-control snow job, knew that the boy wouldn't stop trying to find a way to beat the Reapers and wouldn't let himself get red-taped to hell and gone. Still, it would have been nice to see him again, maybe give him a chance to see his mom too, she had to be hurting. Your son's dead. Nope, he's alive. Probably dead again. Wait, he's alive, seriously. Well, no, you can't see him. Poor woman, losing her husband and her son, and always to some crap detail. John Shepard shouldn't have been flying that CAS mission to begin with, not with double pneumonia. The fact it had been a CAS mission called in by his own son had been something she kept hidden for years now, for his sake. The most inadvertent patricide in history, that boy had loved his dad. He still remembered when Shepard had been assigned to the SR-1, only truly personal possession he had brought aboard was a bound stack of paper and pen letters his old man had sent to him from the time he was a baby until he died over Elysium. To call it a tragic family dynamic was an understatement; their tale was one worth of Aeschylus.

"I just wish to hell Shepard had played this one smart, David. You know him, he's almost been like a son to you, any idea where he might have run?" Hackett's inquired, voice still gravelly and tinged with more than a hint of irritation.

"No idea, Steve. We can dump their navigation logs, but it could be any of a dozen worlds. Shepard doesn't need a network to go to ground, hell he could live off the land for a decade and we'd never be the wiser. I just wish to God he'd talk to me, I could at least explain why we have to bring him in." Anderson shook his head.

"You know this grab order is a load of crap, Anderson. I don't think I can blame him for going AWOL on this one, not with preparations for the Reapers coming to be made. Trying to bring him in over Bahak is going to go down in history as one of the biggest fuck-ups in human history, and it might cost all of us. The question is, how the hell did he know about it?"

"First thing I learned is to never ever discount Shepard's resourcefulness or his ability to make people loyal to him."

"And the second thing?" Hackett almost grinned, the scar marring the right side of his face seeming even brighter red and the skin stretched.

"That even Cerberus' moles must have moles." Anderson replied dryly, his rich sonorous voice carrying a strange finality that brokered no further discussion of the matter. The two old war horses stood silent, nodding to themselves as the last of the Cerberus ensign painted near the prow of the SR-2 disappeared under the assault of the particle sized black-holes chewing the paint.

"One hell of a boat..." Hackett said, shaking his head in contradictory approval.

Anderson grinned, "Mind if I keep her? I think I've had about enough of this office shit, don't want to lose my sea legs."

"David, we're going to need you soon whether you wanted to keep hob-knobbing with the council or not."

"Good, I'll go start packing, time to make Udina a very happy man."

Hackett folded his face into a mildly disgusted frown, "Any chance you can get him to throw his promotion party in an airlock?"

Anderson let out a genuine laugh, "If only we were so lucky, Steve. Anyway, I'd better start getting things squared away. Got any plans for this evening?"

"I got a bottle of scotch I've been meaning to have a talk with, square your shit and head on over. But for right now, I think I need to get a hold of a certain Volus about a certain broker of sensitive information."


	24. Chapter 24

Shepard sat precariously close to the edge of total mental breakdown. It wasn't the kind of sobbing, blubbering, disoriented mental breakdown most associated with the phrase. This was like an itch somewhere deep in his head where he couldn't reach it. It had reached the point of consuming all his waking thoughts; the itch might as well have been a voice because all he could think when not expressly involved with his routine was "what are you doing about it?" Every free moment for the past 8 days had been consumed with trying to plan, to make contingencies, to discover some lost military strategy or technological gambit that would stave off the inevitable. Sadly, in the last two days he found his focus frequently interrupted by the still small call saying "what are you doing about it?" The agitation was starting to wear on him as evidenced by the sudden and diametric shift in his romantic life with Samara. Despite her attempts to initiate, he had steadfastly and impersonally shut down any amorous behavior she had attempted, always with the excuse of having work to do, something that needed checking, a few more figures to process. Twenty three days since he had left the Normandy, during the first two weeks there had been sexual interludes almost every day, occasionally making love more than once a day, now he couldn't muster the desire to give her more than a quick kiss before obsessing about some bit of minutia pertaining to Turian sortie protocols, that was until the itch started to get to him.

At the moment he was browsing the extra-net looking for any news about fleet deployments, trying to determine what preparations were being made for the grim hand of inevitability moving to begin choking the life out of all of them. Not a thing, no hint of any military preparations being made what-so-ever. He knew the tricks to side-stepping standard issues with Classified material, you just had to find the information pertaining to the individual soldiers and sailors. It was never as simple as someone spilling their orders for the world to see, it was the subtle nuanced language of a social networking post, a changed of music on a home-page, a picture of a duffle bag stuffed to capacity, a newly single enlisted man with a look of dejection on his face and a newly shortened hair cut. Of course there was also the sudden spike of men and women looking for a "Jody" on dating sites from a few strategic areas. He suddenly found himself wondering if his first wife had used a dating or social networking site to initiate her infidelity; he wasn't really sure if he cared at all, but still felt a twinge of curiosity until he found himself thinking, once again, "what are you doing about it?"

Samara watched quietly as Shepard sat back from the terminal; back arched, elbows on knees, forehead resting against the edge of his laced fingers, the muscles along his jaw twitching in testament to the tension. The hands twisted into fists, knuckles trying to bore into his eye sockets as the pace of the twitch increased, the skin on the hands themselves tightening as tendons pulled the closed fingers deeper into the palm. She wanted to go touch him, calm him, take his mind of what was slowly turning into a spiral of desperate madness but found herself afraid to approach. He wasn't so much like a crazed animal that would react unpredictably, it was more like approaching a Volcano that was, with utmost certainty, going to explode and soon. The question was to what degree she could rely on him being able to discriminate between what he could and could not flatten when the inevitable rampage occurred? One thing was absolutely certain to her, Shepard did not know his own physical potential, their stretching routines had born that out, she had never personally met a human with his level of flexibility and tolerance for pain when he pushed his muscles and tendons to their operating limits, there had been few Asari with his degree of dexterity, for that matter. She could only assume he similarly reserved the full measure of his strength, so she deemed to safe to say that when he did explode, the damage would be pronounced. The fact he was latently biotic hadn't escaped her either, still she was able to find some small measure of comfort in the fact that he either could not or refused to utilize that particular power set.

"Uriah..."

His right hand came away from his face, his index finger climbing from the balled fist in a pausing gesture, followed a moment later by the rest of the fingers uncurling and the hand waving in a gesture that conveyed everything without uttering a word, "not now."

Shepard felt a moment of near catatonia as he suddenly realized how tired he was on top of the nagging frustration. In his head voices chattering, aspects of his consciousness in a tumult of doubts, fears, and worst case scenarios.

"What are you going to do about it?" - "Shouldn't have left the Normandy." - "Will seventeen Turian fleets be enough?" - "Fuck..." - "What are you going to do about it?" - "They think you're crazy." - "Should have gone straight to Hackett; him and Anderson." - "Could they even sortie 17 fleet groups?" - "We needed to build more dreadnoughts and battle cruisers." - "How much massed firepower do you really need?" - "Fuck...!" - "How do you get an insertion team aboard a Reaper in space?" - "We need combined branch special operations structures in place." - "They think you're nuts, they're going to write this all off." - "What are you going to do about it?" - "Damnit, I need to call Anderson, Hackett, anyone that will listen." - "Why isn't the Hierarchy moving on this?" - "Three...hundred...thousand...dead Batarians." - "Fuck!" - "They're not listening to you." - "Treaty of Faraxin." - "Everyone is going to die, and it's going to be your fault." - "FUCK!" - "They've already got you, you're going nuts because they already have you."

He shot his eyes open, rising suddenly and walking away from the low glass topped coffee table on which the piled books, data pads, and extra-net terminal sat. He covered the distance to the kitchen quickly, looking Samara right in the eyes with an intensity that almost seemed ready to set her skin on fire. She flinched as his hands came down hard on the counter-top.

"Get dressed." He said, almost mechanically.

She stood frozen, not sure exactly what he meant. Was he telling her to leave? Had it finally pushed him too far and he was casting her away? The thought hurt, and she felt a form of self doubt that was strangely familiar. Maybe if she had just loved him a bit more, supported him a bit better, he would not be expressing his dissatisfaction with her.

He arched his brows, rolling his head and shrugging as if silently wondering what she was waiting for. The agitation was there, but not directed at her.

She looked at him cryptically, suddenly arching a brow in amusement as if to say, "I am dressed."

"We're going out." He clarified.

"I thought you had figures to go over. " she was softly sardonic.

"I have determined that all the relevant data is not available at this time." That had almost sounded like something Legion would say.

Samara arched her brows again, folding her arms and leaning back against the counter.

"Okay, I'll just say it...I'm not exactly functioning right now. I have to get away from this, for a little while at least." He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing softly, the texture of the dress she was wearing adding to the calming sensation, "I'm a bit worried I'm going to end up alienating you if I don't get my head right."

She gave him a hint of a smile, "Do you have anything specific in mind?"

He shrugged, "I figure that has got to be something sufficiently distracting we can do."

She cut eyes towards the bedroom.

"I really think it'd be better if we got out of the apartment for a while." Came the disarmed retort to her subtle innuendo.

She laughed softly, "Perhaps I was suggesting you should get some sleep."

"No, you weren't." His eyes were smiling knowingly even if his face wasn't.

"I will get my sandals."

* * *

Samara leaned her head against Shepard's right shoulder, her left arm hooked through his right as they walked leisurely through a park high above the market and commerce areas of Nos Astra. It was a beautiful evening, a crisp breeze blew, cooling the urban heat island effect of sun beating down on buildings for hours without anything to relieve the warmth. They had spent hours outside the apartment, visiting several boutiques that he had been hopelessly out of place in. He had spent his entire adult life as a warrior, the idea of frivolity was novel but alien to him. Samara had enjoyed looking at the fashion, like she had in her maiden and matron stages centuries ago.

There had been one dress that had caught both of their eyes, Shepard had insisted she should try it on. There was more than a few whispers among the Asari salespeople at the young handsome human with the lifespan-respectively much older Samara. Upon stepping out of the dressing room she was appraised with a smile and approving nod.

"I think we have a winner." He said low, as if trying to make sure no one could recognize him by his voice.

"It certainly fits well in all the right places." She ran a hand down her taut abdomen, the exquisite fabric clinging to it like a second skin. She arched a brow at Shepard, he gave her a concupiscent smirk in return. It left little of her form to the imagination, clinging to her perhaps even more tightly than the dress she wore their first afternoon on Illium after leaving the Normandy, but in spite of its revealing fit it left only the skin of her hands, head, and the upper most area of her neck exposed.

One of the saleswomen almost gasped, "It looks fantastic on you."

Samara walked up to Shepard ignoring the other Asari completely. It was a component of Asari territoriality that few outside the species knew about. Starting from the maiden phase on, Asari liked to overtly claim their "property" in front of possible competitors. She placed a hand on his chest, clad in a simple button down pale blue cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up part way to reveal the forearms she adored, covered in a thin pelt of fine wheat-brown hair. She spoke just loud enough to be heard by Shepard and the salesgirl, "Would it not have been easier for us to have just gone to the bedroom earlier like I suggested?"

Shepard spoke barely above a whisper head forward so he could look down the few inches that separated them in height so his eyes could meet hers exactly, the deepest parts of his voice carrying but other than the rumble of some words, undistinguishable beyond her ears. "Maybe I'd like to watch you take it off later...or help you."

She reached down, stroking his thigh through the beige trousers he wore, forcing a slight blush out of him. She turned to the maiden aged salesgirl, her own face betraying a little discomfort and excitement about the actions they were taking in front of her.

"I'll take it."

They had eaten a light dinner, and were now enjoying the feel of impending metropolitan night. Samara entertained the idea of asking if he wanted to visit a club, a few drinks might help calm him further, but of course she would be required to explain how Asari did not suffer fetal alcohol syndrome so there was nothing to prevent her from imbibing as well. Still, he did not seem to be the type that would enjoy visiting a club, and was even less likely to want to surrender his pair of concealed fire arms if worst came to worst. Not that it really mattered, the evening itself and her presence was seeming to be more than enough to alleviate the bouts of pronounced stress and if his body language and the energy he was putting off was any indication, he would soon want to return to the apartment where they could enjoy one another intimately.

"You know, it might not be such a fantastic idea to walk around as un-concealed as you are." She said softly, but not wanting to head back before the stars were out.

"Not a whole lot of footage of me out there without my helmet on, I'd be surprised if anyone was able to recognize me in civilian clothes anyway, well anyone other than a blood relative or someone I served with."

Samara nodded, pressing her face against the sleeve a moment to feel the hard muscle underneath, thinking about how much the blue of the shirt flattered his eyes which were, now, once again, obscured by sun glasses. He smiled blithely, no trace of sadness or tension on his face. For just a short while they had succeeded in forgetting all about the impending horrors of Reaper invasion and the struggle they would be engaging in and enjoyed themselves as just two beings in love. In a strange way, she considered that it was thanks to the Reapers she once again was able to feel so alive after 400 years of rigid emotional amputation.

Uriah was making a point of looking totally distracted, the tail couldn't realize his cover was blown. It was a slow stalk, but he made the mistake of being a human face on a world dominated by non-humans. Each human he saw would seem more distinct as a result, and each more memorable, the second mistake he had was keeping too much distance, following without getting to close. It was his perpetual judicious distance that made him a subject of note with Uriah; how he was always in the area, but never close enough to come into contact. Whoever had sent their tail had briefed him on Shepard's dossier and it was clear nervousness.

Shepard was already getting the lay of the area, trying to figure out where best to intercept the tail, where to gain tactical advantage if a fire-fight broke out, where to avoid being seen if he was forced to reduce the target by hand. A fountain lay ahead about 25 meters, it was tall and completely obscured line of sight along the path. The copse of short trees provided additional cover for an escape and evasion route, the shadows thrown by the all-but-settled sun provided shadows, further retarding the potential for easy target acquisition by their tail. He showed no hint of urgency as they drew closer.

"Samara, when we get around this fountain, pretend to kiss me."

"I will hardly pretend..." she paused, "I understand. How many?"

"Just one, approximately thirty five meters behind us."

"Do you have a weapon?" She inquired as she rubbed her cheek against his arm.

"Once we get around the fountain I'll give you the M six." He replied, looking down at her head as if they were still whispering words of love.

"Is that the only weapon you have?" She was playing her part in the performance well.

"I have a combat knife."

"Will that be sufficient?" running her lips across the sleeve.

"Most likely."

Stepping past the fountain, Samara immediately stepped in front of Shepard, shoving him behind the line of sight obstruction and pressing her body to his in mock-lust. He was already reaching up the back of his shirt, pulling the M-6 handgun he had secreted in the small of his back with medical tape. Samara took the weapon as he set his sunglasses on the edge of the fountain, watching the reflection of their tail in the lenses. He pulled the knife from where he had concealed it at his right hip, it was single edged with a straight blade tapering near the tip with a sharp turn into a to a 60 degree point, not a speck of light reflected from its anodized FDE blade.

In the reflective surface of his sunglasses he saw the would-be assassin quickly open is jacket and produce a machine pistol from a shoulder harness. He didn't recognize the model, a fact that bothered him intensely. The assassin took a lunging step forward, pivoting to bring the weapon to bear on Samara, he wasn't trying to kill Shepard, just neutralize him, it had to be Cerberus.

Before Samara could squeeze off a shot from the handgun, Shepard had already lunged the attacker, his left hand jerking the weapon away from the attackers arm at a 90 degree angle, the knife coming in to lock the elbow and cut the pronator teres. The fact the weapon had been in the assassin's left hand had been fortuitous. The assassin's wrist hyper extended but instead of feeling the impact and resistance as the blade cut muscle he only felt the blade bite and separate some synthetic material under the cloth and then stop abruptly and slide away long heavy duty composite material; a synthetic arm. Quickly he shifted, locking the hand and machine pistol under his left arm, muscles straining as he locked the elbow at its maximum torsion point. He shifted again, snaking his right leg past and behind the assassin's left then pushing back across the Cerberus killer's chest with his left arm. He let go of the machine pistol and snaked his hand free rather than succumb to the sweep and the inevitable heal stomp that would have been aimed for his head and throat.

Staggering back the assassin produced a ferociously hooked knife from a back-sheath under his jacket. He charged, swinging wildly for Shepard's midsection, hoping on opening his stomach, rendering him incapacitated while he finished off the Asari. He was rewarded this the feeling of fabric tearing and a slight resistance at the tip of the blade, the fact that Shepard had side stepped the lunge was apparent far too late as he heard, more than felt, the knife the Spectre wielded slipped up through his lower jaw and back into his lower brain pan.

Samara watched wordless as Shepard withdrew the blade from the assassin's jaw, slipping behind the enemy and locking a hand over his mouth, he stabbed deep into the lower back, withdrawing to slash under the right arm before muscling it upwards to give him access to the throat which he opened with a quick tug. The body hit the ground a second later, rapidly bleeding out, his last audible breaths a bubbling gurgle. Her mate immediately began to search the still bleeding soon-to-be corpse without a moment of reflection on the sanctity of the dead. He found nothing, in his pockets and flipped the body back over, to face the sky. The ghastly wounds had stopped pulsating blood, instead it just flowed forth lazily, signaling the end of the heart beat. She was shaking a little; his wordless ferocity he had exhibited, his skillful use of the blade, and the realization of the peril that had, moments before, loomed over their daughter still nestled in her womb.

Shepard quickly forced a connect to the now-corpse's omnitool and began downloading everything he could fit on his tool's OHD. The hacked omnitool he was using didn't have the capacity or processing power of the one he had been issued by Cerberus, but given the fact that he was going for anonymity it made sense that "Charles Reed" would not be using a military grade omnitool. He looked up to see Samara still holding the M-6, she was quivering a little.

"Samara..."

She met his eyes, something written on her face that he couldn't quire discern.

"Come here." he said softly, almost as if he had no mental, physical, or emotional reaction to what he had done.

She hesitated, some primal fear holding her in place. The dichotomy of violence and love both coming from the same source. She had just watched her mate kill in one of the most brutal ways she had ever witnessed for her safety and was so morally unreserved by it all. It was beyond the warrior ethos, it was a mark of his elite pedigree, those that could reduce the concept of threat to a series of marginalizations. The moment this human had pointed a loaded weapon at her, his life had become forfeit, to Shepard he was just a machine that had to be broken. He called to her again, his voice so soothing and calm, dripping with affection like a salve to rub on her nerves.

"Samara, please come here a moment, I need you to scan his eyes."

She approached weakly, brining up her omnitool and holding her hand over his face. He reached down and forced the right eye open, retracting the lids and rolling the eyeball down so she could capture an image of the retina. She couldn't look into the face, something strange, how many times had she looked at a corpse? How many times had she created the corpse? Still, something about the elemental way he had cut the body, the initial brutality of the strike that had punctured through the bottom of the skull, the successive strike into the liver and kidney, the slashes that opened the brachial and carotid arteries. The only moment of rage had been when the weapon had been brought to bear on her, at which point his face shown with bestial furor. The fact that his expression during the actual killing had been one of the sublime calm of certainty. An expanding area of rusty brown began to stain the powder blue of his shirt.

"Uriah...you're injured." She managed between clenched teeth.

"I know, it's not bad." He looked up, his face suddenly showing some glimmer of emotion, "Are you alright?" He stood, moving to her, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, eyes wide and vulnerable.

He sighed, "I'm sorry you had to see this." He shook the blade, a stream of blood flying off it. He bent down, picking up the unknown machine pistol. With a quick motion he dropped the projectile clip from the weapon and stripped the thermal clip from the pre-fire chamber. Depressing a pair of pins he broke free the receiver upper half from the lower. He lifted the bolt carrier from the weapon, sticking it, now blood slicked from his hand, in his pocket. A twist and he had removed the barrel which he tossed into the nearby trees. He tossed the two halves of the receiver group into the fountain.

"Come on, we need to get back to the apartment."

* * *

Under the hot water of the shower, Samara finally began to feel the warmth the attack had seemed to steal from her return. Gently she ran the soapy luffa over his body, wiping away the now sticky blood. His wound had been superficial, the blood from the would-be assassin had covered his right hand and forearm as well as areas of his left where it had splashed during the avulsion of the neck and the residual gush of the jaw/skull wound. She felt a little disgust, twinges of fear, a smattering or other emotions like anger, despair, and desperation. She also felt a pronounced longing; for him. Not so much a need to touch or be touched, not to feel his body on and inside hers, just a feeling like she wanted to be folded inside the vicious protection, a place where he would keep her warm and safe from anything that might try to hurt her. Vulnerability, what a novel concept, 400 years pursuing Morinth and bringing the judgment of the Justicar code on the iniquitous, and now she felt vulnerable. Perhaps it was the life growing inside her, perhaps it was his influence, regardless, the feelings were there whether she wanted them or not. She had to admit that something about feeling like she could be protected by him forever felt, comforting.

* * *

Liara stared at the extranet screen in muted horror. The cobbled together amateur paparazzi video had reached 25,000 extranet hits within the first five minutes, it had immediately been seeded and reposted, between the original and the repost, there were currently 1.78 million hits. News outlets would be picking it up soon, likely the broadcasts would start carrying to story before the day was out. Footage of Shepard and Samara in Nos Astra. Walking, talking, entering a boutique, having a light dinner, and then the shocking confrontation in the park. By the time she could get her resources in line to shut it down, there would be another 25 million hits, hundreds of more seeds, and major media coverage. She requeued the fight in the park again, it last about eight seconds and was over. She was shocked by the violence of it, watching him dispatch the gun man with a knife in a particularly gruesome fashion. Since becoming the Shadow Broker she had seen dozens of knife fights in video surveillance footage, they tended to go on for a long time and when contact was made there was a flurry of inaccurate stabbing with one or both parties hobbling away, sometimes to expire later. The one time she had seen where a stabbing proved immediately fatal the victim had been stabbed repeatedly for nearly a minute. Shepard had killed the would-be assassin in less than ten seconds, a rather stark testament to the effectiveness of properly designed and executed military training.

How could this have happened? She was convinced that Shepard would be more careful than this, how had he managed to get spotted so easily? She had to admit, in the light blue shirt, beige trousers, and the sun glasses it took her a second to recognize it was, indeed, him. He looked thinner, more drawn, in the face, and his usual stubble had turned into a thin beard at this point. Aesthetically she admitted that she liked the look on him, he looked much less...militant. She turned up the volume on the video again, requeueing from the beginning.

"While the stars of Illium are out to play, nothing can outshine the top star of the citadel right here in Nos Astra." The voice could have belonged to an Asari gossip maven or a younger human female, it was impossible to tell from the audio, "Commander Shepard, the first human spectre and hero of the citadel seems to be taking in the Nos Astra Night Life with Asari companion."

The video cut to Samara in the smoky grey dress, Liara immediately feeling a twinge of jealousy at her figure and more than a small amount of inadequacy, at her best she had never managed to achieve the goddess-like combination of shape and taught muscle. She made a mental note to start an exercise regimen.

"Who is this femme fatale; A mysterious matriarch with moxie or fellow spectre? The pair enjoyed some shopping and dinner and some serious P D A in Nos Astra's most fashionable neighborhoods."

The voice over cut and went to raw audio in the park. "That guy better not be from Westerland...this is my story." There were the muffled sounds of quick walking, it was still impossible to tell if the speaker was Asari or human. The Camera was moving forward, focusing on Shepard and Samara walking leisurely down a path in the park towards a large fountain. The Asari was clinging to his arm affectionately. When they rounded the fountain she pushed him out of the camera's field of view.

"Oh, this is going to be good!" the pace quickened only to stop suddenly when their tail produced the submachine gun.

"Goddess!" came the muted cry of alarm, so it WAS an Asari.

Then Shepard's counter-attack, the vicious eight second struggle that left the assailant lying on the ground bleeding out.

"Goddess, Goddess! I hope I got that. Sinela, start uploading this footage now!"

There was a muted reply through a communication connection.

"It doesn't matter! This will never air unless we go viral with it! Get it on the extranet now!"

Liara chewed idly at the knuckle of her right index finger. One of her moles in Cerberus had identified the weapon as an M-25 Hornet, this had been ordered by The Illusive Man. What she couldn't tell was if the gun had been drawn on Shepard or Samara. Did the grab order still stand or had they moved to reducing Shepard? She looked once again at the open text file of the request sent from Admiral Steven Hackett by way of Barla Von. He wanted Shepard to come in, and was prepare to make assurances. Liara found herself contemplating betraying his trust for the second time in the last month. The intrusion into his life with Samara had been the first, handing him over to Hackett would be the second. It wasn't that she found the human Admiral to be untrustworthy, to the contrary she saw him as honorable, dutiful, and courageous. Still, to betray Shepard's trust that she would keep his whereabouts secret. It was semantics now anyways, the galaxy would know he was on Illium in short order, and with the revelation Hackett made about the events in Bahak, the Batarians would soon have death squads there looking for him on top of Cerberus grab/skill teams.

For his safety, for the success of his mission...

She opened up her communication terminal, her words instantly muted and synthesized as the "voice", "Asset zero three twenty one, this is Shadow Broker. Please inform Admiral Hackett I will accede to his request. The data required is forthcoming."


	25. Chapter 25

**[! Warning: Extended Author's Note !]**

**[! Author's Note !] So it would appear that Bioware is going to cave to the fan QQ and change the endings for Mass Effect 3. I believe that they would have been better served by sticking to their guns and, subsequently, having artistic integrity. I'm the type of guy who likes movies with an unhappy ending or a pyrrhic victory, so despite how shocked I was by the ending, I adored it. To me it gave credence to the morality aspect of the game; decisions have consequences. In this case it was something a bit more profound than "who gets a call-back for the next installment". I really thought they were making a great nod to Shermer's Last Law which states that any extremely advanced extraterrestrial entity or intelligence is indistinguishable from God (to which I use what I call the Kirk Rebuttal which states "What does God need with a starship?") and the game captured it in the idea of technology that did what was traditionally only the purview of God(s). At what point does the metaphysical overlap with the physical? At the point you jump in a huge frickin' beam of light to ensure the continuity of ALL life, organic and synthetic, or the point when you go from organic being to the operating system for all artificial beings, or perhaps when you blow the hell out of some magic pipe that makes all non-organic artificial organisms drop dead.**

**Frankly, for purposes of my story the canon endings just work better. I'm sure there are people who will not be happy about this but I have to have a stitch of artistic integrity myself. Of course you all may be sick and tired of this story by the time I finish this, the last chapter, in which case I recommend you send me a private message with the text "Die in a fire", at which point I will take the hint and stop burning bandwidth with additional offerings.**

Hannah Shepard found something uncomfortable about the civilian clothes she was wearing, they seemed to scratch at her, choke her, weigh her down. Maybe it was a sense of guilt, she was being an instrument in the betrayal of her son. She hadn't known why he had gone on the run, but she knew if he had, there was adequate justification. Hackett had a propensity for throwing his weight around, the man had more political clout than any two parliament members combined, but still played his power like a soldier should. He hadn't even asked if he could address her familiarly, he hadn't needed too, there was no chance she was going to take offense, that was just the kind of man he was.

"Hannah, Uriah is in a lot of trouble right now, we need to bring him in and you're probably the only person who will be able to get through to him."

She had seen the video of the attack on Illium, that had been all it had taken to convince her, that and the realization that the inquest a month ago had been about what he had done it Bahak. Everyone seemed to want a piece or her boy who had only ever tried to be the best marine he could be and serve with courage, honor, and distinction. She knew his mad prophet rhetoric, his claims about extra-galactic killing machines bent on the destruction of advanced civilization. He believed it at his very core, she saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, for him it was a certainty. As much as she believed in his belief, she couldn't reconcile the concept herself something about it was way to Lovecraftian for her tastes, and while Sovereign had clearly been totally alien technology and most certainly not Geth, she found the idea that there were hundreds or thousands more seemed improbable. The Admiral had asked her if she knew the story of Cassandra, she had been forced to admit to the fact that she did not.

"Imagine you knew something so terrible that if you didn't tell everyone you met or saw that it was going to happen they would all die. Now imagine that the way you inform the people makes them all think you are crazy. That's what Uriah is dealing with."

And thus, here she was, outside the apartment, the extraction and security team were outside the complex. Hackett had hastily put the operation together, but had all the contingencies humanly imaginable in place before he had even spoken to her. Of course all humanly imaginable contingencies, did not take into account that Uriah was...well...Uriah, and had a proven track record for upsetting the conventional wisdom regarding what was and was not possible. She couldn't believe she was doing this, she had always taken satisfaction that neither she, nor her late husband, had ever gotten involved with grey-ops during their respective times in the Systems Alliance Armed Forces. She held her hand up to the door, opening her omnitool and accessing the code she had been given by Hackett.

The door opened revealing a high end luxury apartment. If the accommodations were any indication her son wasn't wanting for anything, it made the idea he was on the run seem more dubious. She felt a twinge of doubt, wondering if he was really in the right. A mother's doubt said she had been wrong about her own flesh and blood, that he wasn't the victim of forces arrayed against him. He was already standing, weapon in hand at his side when she saw him, his eyes wide in surprise. His shirtless form, clad in black pajama pants was in the beginnings of a crouch, ready to spring into action. She noticed the pink trails of scar tissue along his chest, stomach and arms, ghastly in width and length, almost like he had fallen in a rock tumbler full of knives. Their coloration alone indicated that they were relatively fresh, no more than a few months old. What had happened to him? The doubt was overwhelmed with concern for the now-man she remembered as a defenseless infant.

"Momma..."

"Uriah...baby...what happened to you?" She took a few steps forward, noticing the books, printouts and terminals he had apparently been pouring over.

"How did you find me...?" He looked past the door she had come in from. "Did they get you? They're not who they say they are, they're Cerberus." His voice became menacingly serious.

She stepped further into the apartment, past the foyer, the kitchen to her left, her hands lifted reassuringly, "No baby, it's not them, Hackett found out and sent me, we need to get you somewhere safe, sweetheart."

"Momma, I can protect you, how many of them are with you?" His face took on a strange set, disconnected, his voice toneless.

"Sweetie, it's really not Cerberus. Hackett and Anderson both briefed me, they got your location from the Shadow Broker after the attack."

Movement to her right caught Hannah Shepard's attention, she turned her head to see an Asari sit up in the bedroom, the sheet falling from her body revealing her state of nudity. She noticed the human woman and immediately reached down beside the bed, producing a M-6 of her own.

"Uriah...?" The Asari queried as she brought the weapon to bear, her voice was exquisite.

"Check your fire, it's just my mother, it's alright. It's not Cerberus."

"Are you certain?"

He paused a moment, "Yeah...yes, I am."

The Asari lowered the weapon but did not leave the bed nor did she seek to cover her nakedness. She held onto the pistol, clearly intending to ensure the safety of her mate.

Something about Uriah being in the room with this naked Asari sleeping in what must have been a bed they shared caused a strange twinge of discomfort in Hannah. He had been married once before so it wasn't so much the concept of his desires that made her uncomfortable. She had always disliked something about the girl he had married, but she knew he was an adult who had to make his own choices. In spite of that, she couldn't reconcile the thought of her "little boy" coming into his own, sexually. It was the anathema that perhaps all parents faced; the idea that one day your child would have the same passions that had created them in the first place. It was almost like the realization that your parents had created you during an act of sexual congress and, often, had continued the behavior through your childhood, her three brothers and one other sister were testaments to that fact. Still, the idea of mom and dad much less her son and-...it was irreconcilable.

She watched as he sat down the weapon, walking over to her. She realized it had probably been six years since she last saw him. He had clearly inherited both his father and her father's handsomeness, but even that was nothing compared to the figure she appraised proudly, as if something in her head said "I made that." He reached her and wrapped his arms around her, leaning his head forward to rest on her shoulder, Hannah immediately embraced her son, her right ear pressed to his.

"I missed you, momma."

"I missed you too, sweetie." She leaned back, looking into his face, "When they told me...you died..." she choked back a sob, "Well...I'm so glad that you're here."

Samara had put on the black pajama shirt Shepard had deigned to ignore upon dressing in the pre-dawn gray two or three hours before his mother had arrived. She crossed from the bedroom, not so much wanting to insert herself into the personal moment between mother and son as wanting to meet the mother of the man she had come to love. She marveled, silently, that she could see no overt resemblance between mother and child; facial features, skin color, hair texture, even height were markedly different. She had read about human genetic variance being exponentially larger when compared to most other races, but she had never imagined it would be this significant.

Uriah placed a hand on Samara's waist, easing her over to stand in front of his mother, fingers gently rubbing at her side through the cotton cloth. She looked at him momentarily, seeing the strange sadness in his eyes again, but there was something else now, it was comfort, maybe even adoration, the joy at a child seeing the parent it loved as only offspring could love those that bore it.

"Momma, this is Justicar Samara." He turned to look in her eyes, "She's...she's been... I don't even really know how to put it."

Hannah effected a smile, not sure exactly what she should feel at the moment. She generally didn't hold a terribly high opinion of the Asari, she knew even less how to feel about the fact that his one seemed to have seduced her son. "Pleasure to meet you."

"The honor is mine," replied the silken voiced alien, "Your son does you credit."

Uriah lowered his head with an embarrassed smile. He was downright moony over this woman, he hadn't exuded a bit of this teenager-in-love demeanor with his ex-wife. Hannah began to wonder if she hadn't brainwashed him somehow. He didn't seem a bit like himself, up until his early 20s he had seemed practically asexual, never fawned over a girl, never tried to date. She sort of assumed he had enjoyed a few flings based on correspondence after receiving his commission, but this didn't feel like a fling.

"How did you two meet?" A disapproving mother's question.

Samara sensed Mrs. Shepard's objection, she wasn't certain if it was because of the pronounced life-stage difference, twinges of xenophobia, discomfiture at their relationship outside the confines of traditional spiritual and legal mate bonding, or simply a mother's concern over her child. She could understand the apprehension, in the same position she would have disapproved of one her daughters being involved with a middle aged or older Turian, Salarian, or Krogan. The fact they had all been Ardat Yakshi had, of course, rendered this issue moot. Still, she understood the need to assuage the concerns of her mate's mother.

"We met here in Nos Astra some months ago during your son's campaign against the collectors. He intended to recruit me as part of his operations team on the basis of my abilities." She smiled with subdued bliss looking into Uriah's eyes, "It was not until later that I discovered his exceptional character. He is possibly the kindest, most compassionate being I have ever known despite being the most skilled and deadly warrior I have encountered."

Samara turned her eyes back to his mother, "After four hundred years he showed me what it felt like to love again."

Hannah Shepard knew of Asari longevity, but she was decidedly shocked at the implication. By human standards she would be around 40 or 50 years old, perhaps even older. Her earlier nudity gave not the vaguest of hints at physical degradation, she was athletic with tight musculature in her arms, an abdomen that suggested great athleticism, and an overall shape most human females would kill for. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Samara closed her eyes slowly, her smile peaceful, "I have lived for just over nine centuries. It is a shock to me that I found a true soul mate in my twilight years."

Hannah shook her head in disbelief, her expression wry, "Leave it to my boy to fall in love with an Asari matriarch."

Samara placed a hand delicately on his chest, "I think it would, perhaps, to be safe to say I fell in love with him."

Hannah Shepard was getting uncomfortable with the conversation and decided to shift its direction, "So, you were getting a little R&R? What is this exactly?"

"Cerberus put out a grab order on me. They have infiltrated heavily into the Alliance, I couldn't risk coming in so I went to ground until we could figure out who to trust."

"Hackett and Anderson." His mother replied as if it was a ridiculously fore-gone conclusion.

"And if they were the only two other people besides you and me in the Alliance, that would work out just fine."

She found herself angry at his assertion that he couldn't trust the Alliance. "It doesn't matter at this point, it's just semantics, Hackett has forty two marines in the area right now. The only decision you have left is whether you leave head or feet first."

Samara could see the anger growing on her mate's face, the frustration, it was an old blanket he found himself wrapped in, the truth that he knew that no one would listen too. Eventually, being second guessed over and over, even when you always turned out to be right, drove a "mad prophet" genuinely mad.

"Does nobody get it? Momma, half the operatives Cerberus has are ex-alliance. They didn't get court-martialed or bad-conduct discharged or O-T-H'ed, they E T S'ed and retired. It's not like some mustached twirling villain is going to show up and tie me to a train track. I'm just going to...disappear, or 'hang myself with my sheets', whatever it takes. That's how these people operate, I'm just a two billion credit expendable asset, and if they need too they'll overhaul me to get the most out of their investment."

"Uriah Jonathan Shepard!" She scowled.

"Momma!"

She just looked at him sternly. She couldn't believe he was acting like this. It was like those months after the eezo exposure all over again. Intractable, belligerent, he wouldn't listen to a thing anyone said, just kept insisting he understood better than anyone else. Leave it to her child to switch her from beside-herself happy to outraged.

He just hung his head, when he looked up there was defeat in his eyes. "Can you give me some time? An hour or two?"

"Why?" Now she was being intractable, but she felt justified. He had pushed it to this point with the nonsense he was spouting.

"I would like some time to say goodbye to Samara and our baby." Uriah said through clenched teeth in almost tearful indignation.

It may have been a cheap shot, but she had failed to deflect it. She found herself floored. Baby? What baby? The Asari was pregnant, by him? "Wait a tick...what baby?"

Samara spoke again, "I am with child. Uriah provided the basis by which I formed the zygote."

"When did this happen?" Hannah's stern countenance failed her.

"Thirty seven days ago. I was..." She paused, flushing a slightly darker blue, then looking deeply at Uriah, "distracted during the conception."

Hannah scowled slightly, not liking the mental image it put in her head. "Needless to say."

Samara inclined her head, trying to continue in a role as peacekeeper, "It is more complex than that. Asari are conscious of the act of conception, it is controlled by our mental process. In the case of Uriah, I was so overwhelmed, I conceived unaware that I was doing so."

"Okay, I really don't need to hear anymore about that. I'll get a hold of Hackett, you two take your time." She felt the anger soften somehow, it was so distinctly Uriah, doing things his own way and still managing to outdo everyone's expectations. "I'll be looking forward to being a new grandma in eight months."

"Sixteen," Samara corrected.

"Pardon?"

"Asari gestation is approximately seventeen months." The Justicar clarified. "You will be a new grandmother in sixteen months. I hope I will have a mate to return to and share my happiness with at that time."

The elder Shepard felt a bit shamed, fully realizing her culpability in what was being visited upon her son. She was meant to be the anesthetic that made his effective-capture smoother and less traumatic for the Alliance, but also for Uriah himself. Instead she had acted as a blunt instrument to beat him into submission. She knew the power she held over her son, knew that he would never outright defy her. He may argue, he may try to convince her that he was right, but in the end, it was always her way or nothing at all. But in Samara's final words she found a strange challenge and a veiled threat. There was genuine danger in her voice, and Hannah Shepard was convinced that this Asari would rain righteous vengeance on anyone who kept her mate away from her.

She looked into her son's face, genuine regret chewing at her. "I am so sorry, sweetie."

"I know, momma." He stepped forward, embracing her again.

She held him for what felt like forever, joy that her only child lived but also hating herself for betraying him and feeling strongly now that he didn't deserve the fate that was being hung on him.

* * *

Stepping from the apartment she leaned against the door, suddenly feeling weak and sick to her stomach, twisting pain in her core washed over her, like a knife was slicing slowly into her womb. She knew it was in response to the sin she had committed against he who once dwelled there. She stifled a soft sob, wiping what was going to be a tear forming in her left eye.

"John...I am so sorry for what I did to our boy." All she could do was ask her dead husband for forgiveness, and she prayed he would since she would never forgive herself. She didn't even wonder about her son's forgiveness, when he had hugged her before she left she already knew, he didn't even think she needed to be forgiven. He didn't blame her at all, just wished she would listen to and believe in him. She hadn't even managed that correctly, but he still placed no condition on her immunity from his indignation. That fact had, perhaps, hurt more than the guilt.

She smiled, "I think we did good, I think we have a good man, someone we can be proud of. God, I wish you were here, we're going to have a granddaughter in sixteen months." She decided then and there she would do whatever was in her power to make sure her son was around to see it.

* * *

"So who is this guy, anyway?" Lieutenant James Vega rolled his right shoulder, adjusting the seating of the Defender armor he was wearing. His platoon had been tasked with security for the extraction. Hackett was overseeing the operation personally, it was unusual to have as much brass present as they did for a simple pick-up, no matter who the principle was. Admiral Anderson himself had approached Vega, informing him that he and his platoon would be tasked with security for the pick-up and additional security once the individual in question was transferred back to Vancouver. They had their objective cornered, the Captain they had brought in had made contact, and now they were being told to hold position for the next 90 minutes or until they received further instruction.

"Fucking Godzilla, didn't you read the brief?" Staff Sergeant Dwyer was in rare form today. Dwyer was normally reserved, not a lot to say, rarely emotive in any capacity. He was the anti-lifer, lifer; never one for histrionics, never one to cling to regulations for their own sake. He was a practical man, making impractical assertions.

"The principle is a high-value tier two personality, and we're here in full platoon strength so we can walk the guy off planet...not sure I'm seeing how this is necessary, staff sergeant."

"Remember the Skyllian Blitz?"

"I wasn't there, I was just a kid, but yeah...I know about it."

"This is mister F O B ardent aegis, the one and only, commander Uriah J. Shepard. The gold standard of ass-kick." Dwyer didn't sound excited, in fact he sounded scared. The idea that N7's most proficient and famous alumnus had gone rogue was a frightening prospect.

"No shit, nah, c'mon, you're shittin' me." Vega grinned, bouncing off his heals.

"It's in the brief. They specifically mention F O B ardent aegis in the service record." Dwyer had a lot of nervous energy going on.

"Could be someone else who was at the F O B." Vega postulated.

"He WAS the only guy left at that forward operations base. Everyone else was either killed or cas-evaced out. He held the post for thirty one hours all by himself with nothing but his weapons and whatever close air support he could call down."

"Still, a whole platoon for one man..."

"L T, what do you think a guy like that could do to a single seven man section or fourteen man squad if he decided he didn't want to be taken?"

"Get shot?" Vega's patent humor was lost on Dwyer.

"When the last twenty five Batarians hit his position, he was down to his side arm and a knife. By the time it was down to nine, all he had left was the knife. The last three he did with his hands after his knife broke off. Sure you want to scrap with this guy."

Vega grinned, again, "Yeah, actually, I kinda' do now."

"Seriously, L T..."

"So that's why we're here, this bullshit with Bahak." Vega shook his head, shrugging, "You think he did it?"

"Blew the fuck out of the relay? I didn't really think that was up for debate, sir."

"Yeah, but do you think he did it on purpose?"

"How do you blow the fuck out of a relay without doing it on purpose?" Dwyer sounded incredulous and more than just a little sarcastic.

"You know what I mean, do you think he did it because he hates Batarians or some other reason?"

"L T, have you met many N sevens?" It was a legitimate question, but Vega wasn't sure what it had to do with the conversation.

"One or two, seemed like pretty cool cats to me."

"Exactly, I don't think these guys know how to hate anything, it's all fuckin' mathematical for them. If he was pissed at the Batarians, he would never let it show. N seven marines are operators, it's never about vengeance or getting even. Reciprocity is nothing but operational language for them, revenge is a code word not a concept. You have to be able to put yourself completely out of the equation the second you touch the selector switch and charging handle, you don't make it through N seven if you're not wired that way, sir." He motioned towards the quintet of soldiers standing near the entrance to the building, "The grab team, all five of those guys are N sevens, they're not here to take Shepard down, though they would if it came to it, they're here out of respect."

Vega shrugged, "Still, three hundred thousand dead, doesn't look to good for the Commander."

Dwyer grumbled a reply, "I know..."

They were 54 minutes into the hold position order, what could be going on? Vega glanced over to the pair of sniper teams he had sitting on the roof of an adjacent apartment. He opened his communication link to the primary team. "We got eyes on the principle."

"That's a roger, sir. Principle is glassed."

"...And...?"

"Principle is...indisposed at the moment, sir."

"Define indisposed...you know what...never mind, don't."

"We should all be so lucky, sir."

"Seriously?" Vega took a frustrated series of pacing steps, doubling back again to stop where he had been standing next to Dwyer. "This guy..."

* * *

Samara had dressed after the shower and was now standing looking at Shepard as he stood in front of his stacks of books, looking over some detail or another on a data slate. Her expression was expectant, she wanted him to say something more beyond the words he had whispered to her in their moment of privacy and the subsequent shower. He didn't look her way, but seemed to feel her eyes on him.

"This isn't goodbye, Samara...it can't be. I refuse to let it be."

Her lower lip pouted slightly as she held her jaw rigidly, fighting the tears that wanted to break free. "I could have come to Earth, waited for you."

"Samara, you know you couldn't do that. I need you to be what I can't while I'm locked up. Someone has to keep spreading the word. I know it hurts, but you have to be my voice."

"Why would they listen to me when they have ignored you?"

Shepard stepped towards her aggressively, "Because you're not a mass murderer. You're not some silly human who isn't ready to become part of the galactic community. You're not window dressing! They'll tell a twenty nine year old human where he can stick it, but they're not going to talk down to a nine hundred year old Asari."

Maiden feelings; jealousy, insecurity, recrimination, she let them spill out before she could rationalize, her voice tinged with bitterness, "Is that all our relationship is? An alliance of convenience whereby your warnings gain credence?"

His mouth dropped open at this, "You really believe that?" Ah yes, the fight...an integral part of relationships when feelings were running high, hormones were doing strange things to the brain, and the stress and strain already had you near the breaking point. Twenty five minutes before they were sharing some final moments of affection and passion, now they were at each other's throats.

"I don't know what to believe."

He forced himself not to give into the anger and frustration, the fact she was being just like them...like everyone else who didn't believe him or refused to listen to reason. He forced the calm, low, measure tone, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice soft. "Okay, if that's how it is, I understand."

Samara sighed, turning her back to him. How exasperating, he had completely ruined the anger catharsis. She needed an outlet for her emotions right now more than any other time she could remember in her recent life. He had deflected what should have been the catalyst for a horrible blow-out fight with eight words. The part of her who wanted some measure of emotional closure, that would rather feel rage than numbness and sorrow prodded again. "Have you ever considered that you're wrong about everything?"

She turned back, hoping the goad would result in the cathartic culmination of the argument, instead she was rewarded with an expression of exhaustion and more than a little desperation, red rimmed eyes shimmering with moisture, "I wish I was..."

Her resolve melted, the misplaced anger she had directed at him dissolving and leaving only a feeling of hurt and loneliness. She wasn't sure how she was going to live without him now that she had learned to live with him. There was a sense of horrible finality, a finality she could only hold at bay with the memories of those moments they enjoyed together. She approached him, wrapping her arms around him, clutching the back of his head, breathing deeply his scent. Focusing her mind into every inch of her body where his hands touched as he embraced her in return, she had to remember this, remember everything about him and lock it away inside her. "I love you, Uriah."

"Samara..." His voice caught and he kissed her, holding his lips to hers pulling her tighter to him. Upon releasing her lips, pressed his forehead to hers. They remained still for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever. "Go, please...before it becomes any harder for either of us."

She nodded, stepping back from him, struggling to keep the sobs at bay. "One day, we'll meet again."

When she exited the apartment she was in tears, walking quickly past the alliance soldiers that were securing the door, down the hall she passed more armored human troops until reaching the elevator. When the door closed she let out a gasping sob, fighting hard to subdue herself as it descended to the ground floor. As the doors opened she wiped away tears only to have them quickly replaced by the reserve that stood at the ready. A group of five human males, clad in smoky grey armor with red accents stood in a small knot. They were armed to the teeth and exuded the kind of confidence and professionalism she had always noticed in Uriah. The N7 markings on the armor immediately marked them as the Alliance's most elite, Shepard's warrior brethren. They effected smiles, but they seemed to be laden with pity and the bitter acceptance of their current task. They all made eye contact and nodded to her as she passed, a silent thanks for what they knew she had done for their brother marine.

"Ma'am."

Samara continued past them, then stopped, turning back to them. Before she even spoke they were all looking at her. "I know it is not my position to ask, but...please, do not harm him."

One of the marines bowed his head in an incomplete nod, "We don't have any intention of hurting him. That being said we'll do what we have to. But, if your Uriah Shepard is the same Uriah Shepard I know, you don't have a thing to worry about, ma'am."

Another of the marines pointed to the red triangle to the right of the N7 designation on his armor, "This here, it's our blood, he's out brother."

With that bit of esoteric language they turned and proceeded into the apartment complex, and in doing so Shepard's fate was transferred from her hands to theirs. She felt a quiet reassurance, they were his brothers. A special fraternity that seemed at once alien and familiar, and it calmed her to ponder it. Until the time her mate called for her again, she could be Justicar Samara, and she would do his will, spreading his word by word and example. She could pay her final honor to the code, then leave it. It would be his code that would shape the future, and when his voice echoed across the galaxy calling for the various peoples to rise up against the engulfing nightmare, she would stand beside him as comrade, disciple, and lover.

* * *

The regulars gave way quickly for the N7s as they made their way into the corridor leading to the principle's apartment. Several had shouted forward to the remainder of their squad, "Make a hole!" Upon reaching the door, the two marines guarding it stood down. The five operators looked to one another, a single shared nod and they pulled their modified M-5a2s. The oldest of the five opened the door. They entered calmly, pistols in hand hanging at their sides, Shepard was immediately visible looking over a data slate. He didn't bother to turn, just sat the slate down and put his hands behind his head, spreading his feet apart as he did.

"Three weapons in the area; one mike six, bedroom. One mike six, zero two meters forward of principle, one mike one two, at your three o'clock." Shepard said, saving them the time of doing an EPW sweep. The de-facto leader of the group approached the turned spectre, running his omnitool past his body once to check for concealed weapons or devices,

"He's clean."

The remaining four N7s had collected the weapons from the indicated locations. Uriah turned, looking right into the face of formerly-master-guns-now-Top Cowl. The older man nodded then embraced Shepard, patting him hard on the back. The other four had also closed, each taking turns welcoming their brother in arms back into the fold.

"Welcome home, brother."

One of the marines pulled an N7 sweatshirt from a satchel, "You're walking out of here whole."

Shepard donned the covering, then held his wrists up, cocking his head slightly as he did, expression very matter of fact.

Cowl frowned, "You don't need those."

Uriah shook his head, "Cuff me Top, I'm technically a fugitive."

"Hackett said only if you resisted. We want you to walk out of here with your honor intact, Commander." another that Shepard now recognized as 1st Lieutenant Park Li-Tae, formerly of team 5, replied.

Uriah shook his head again, resigned to what was necessary, "You know what will happen if protocol is breached. I'm AWOL, possibly guilty of treason, and wanted on three hundred seventeen thousand counts of murder. Put them on, and let's do this right."

Ensign Milo Shaw stepped forward, Shepard remembered him from team 3, he had OCSed some point after Eden Prime. His wide eyes contrasted against the deep burnt brown of his skin, the expression one of regret and a little shame, "I'm sorry, brother." He placed the binders on Shepard's wrists and closed them to a judicious tightness.

"You better polish that bar, Milo."

Shaw grinned weakly, "About time, huh, Commander?"

"By the time they let me out of the brig, I want to see where you've made Captain." He was putting a brave face on it, knowing the "sadness" that Samara whispered to him about after making love was back in his eyes. "Everything I have documented here needs to go to Hackett." He took a deep breath, not sure if it was relief or fear of what lay ahead of him, "Let's get out of here before Nos Astra Security throws a fit."

Escorted by the quintet of commandos he left the apartment, stopping at the door to take one last look at the rooms, this little haven he had experienced teetering somewhere between madness and bliss. He considered the very real possibility that it would be the last comfort he would ever experience, and as such he would have to carry it with him, wrap himself in it. He knew the strange melancholy he felt building in him would only be assuaged by the indignation, fear, and despair that would become the hallmarks of these coming months and years. Still, just one small place where he, in his mind, could retreat and experience the comfort he had, wrapped in her arms, speaking of nothing with the importance of everything to her, his Asari, his love, would be enough to give him the strength to endure.

"From this valley they say you are going, we will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile, for they say you are taking the sunshine, that has brightened our path for a while..."

End Book One


End file.
